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THE 


PRI MADONNA 


A SEQUEL TO “FAIR MARGARET” 



F. MARION CRAWFORD 


M 

AUTHOR OF “ SARACINESCA,” “ SANT’ ILARIO,” 
“FAIR MARGARET,” ETC., ETC. 


Nefo gork 

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., Ltd. 

1908 

All rights reserved 


X. 




UBhM JY of CONSRESSf 
T w *f 0 ' rites H 8c wived 

#i?K 18 1908 

Cou>.l«»; njifry 

XV ^ Z? itffil 

OUSSA AAc, No, 

/<? $ iSz. 

' * COFY M. 


Copyright, 1907, 

By F. MARION CRAWFORD. 


Set up and electrotyped. Published May, 1908. 


/ 



NorbJDoO $ress 

J. S. Cushing Co. — Berwick & Smith Co. 
Norwood, Mass., U.S.A. 







THE PKIMADONNA 







CHAPTER I 


When the accident happened, Cordova was singing 
the mad scene in Lucia for the last time in that season, 
and she had never sung it better. The Bride of Lam- - 
mermoor is the greatest love-story ever written, and it 
was nothing short of desecration to make a libretto of 
it; but so far as the last act is concerned the opera cer- 
tainly conveys the impression that the heroine is a 
raving lunatic. Only a crazy woman could express 
feeling in such an unusual way. 

Cordova’s face was nothing but a mask of powder, 
in which her handsome brown eyes would have looked 
like two holes if she had not kept them half shut under 
the heavily whitened lids; her hands were chalked too, 
and they were like plaster casts of hands, cleverly 
jointed at the wrists. She wore a garment which was 
supposed to be a nightdress, which resembled a very 
expensive modern shroud, and which was evidently 
put on over a good many other things. There was a 
deal of lace on it, which fluttered when she made her 
hands shake to accompany each trill, and all this really 
contributed to the general impression of insanity. 
Possibly it was overdone; but if any one in the audience 
had seen such a young person enter his or her room 
unexpectedly, and uttering such unaccountable sounds, 

B 1 


2 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. I 


he or she would most assuredly have rung for a doctor 
and a cab, and for a strait-jacket if such a thing were 
to be had in the neighbourhood. 

An elderly man, with very marked features and 
iron-grey hair, sat in the fifth row of the stalls, on 
the right-hand aisle. He was a bony man, and the 
people behind him noticed him and thought he looked 
strong. He had heard Bonanni in her best days and 
many great lyric sopranos from Patti to Melba, and he 
was thinking that none of them had sung the mad scene 
better than Cordova, who had only been on the stage 
two years, and was now in New York for the first time. 
But he had already heard her in London and Paris, 
and he knew her. He had first met her at a breakfast 
on board Logo the ti’s yacht at Cap Martin. Logo the ti 
was a young Greek financier who lived in Paris and 
wanted to marry her. He was rather mad, and had 
tried to carry her off on the night of the dress rehearsal 
before her debut, but had somehow got himself locked 
up for somebody else. Since then he had grown calmer, 
but he still worshipped at the shrine of the Cordova. 
He was not the only one, however; there were several, 
including the very distinguished English man of letters, 
Edmund Lushington, who had known her before she 
had begun to sing on the stage. 

But Lushington was in England and Logotheti was 
in Paris, and on the night of the accident Cordova had 
not many acquaintances in the house besides the bony 
man with grey hair; for though society had been anxious 
to feed her and get her to sing for nothing, and to play 


CHAP. I 


THE PRIMADONNA 


3 


bridge with her, she had never been inclined to accept 
those attentions. Society in New York claimed her, 
on the ground that she was a lady and was an American 
on her mother’s side. Yet she insisted on calling her- 
self a professional, because singing was her profession, 
and society thought this so strange that it at once be- 
came suspicious and invented wild and unedifying 
stories about her; and the reporters haunted the lobby 
of her hotel, and gossiped with their friends the detec- 
tives, who also spent much time there in a professional 
way for the general good, and were generally what 
English workmen call wet smokers. 

Cordova herself was altogether intent on what she 
was doing and was not thinking of her friends, of Lush- 
ington, or Logo the ti, nor of the bony man in the stalls; 
certainly not of society, though it was richly represented 
by diamonds in the subscriber’s tier. Indeed the 
jewellery was so plentiful and of such expensive quality 
that the whole row of boxes shone like a vast coronet 
set with thousands of precious stones. When the music 
did not amuse society, the diamonds and rubies twinkled 
and glittered uneasily, but when Cordova was trilling 
her wildest they were quite still and blazed with a steady 
light. Afterwards the audience would all say again 
what they had always said about every great lyric 
soprano, that it was just a wonderful instrument with- 
out a particle of feeling, that it was an over-grown 
canary, a human flute, and all the rest of it; but while 
the trills ran on the people listened in wonder and the 
diamonds were very quiet. 


4 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. I 


'A-a A-a A-a A-a ’ sang Cordova 

at an inconceivable pitch. 

A terrific explosion shook the building to its founda- 
tions; the lights went out, and there was a long grinding 
crash of broken glass not far off. 

In the momentary silence that followed before the 
inevitable panic the voice of Schreiermeyer, the mana- 
ger, rang out through the darkness. 

' Ladies and gentlemen! There’s no danger! Keep 
your seats! The lights will be up directly.’ 

And indeed the little red lamps over each door that 
led out, being on another circuit, were all burning 
quietly, but in the first moment of fright no one noticed 
them, and the house seemed to be quite dark. 

Then the whole mass of humanity began to writhe 
and swell, as a frightened crowd does in the dark, so 
that every one feels as if all the other people were grow- 
ing hugely big, as big as elephants, to smother and 
crush him; and each man makes himself as broad as he 
can, and tries to swell out his chest, and squares his 
elbows to keep the weight off his sides; and with the 
steajdy strain and effort every one breathes hard, and 
few speak, and the hard-drawn breath of thousands to- 
gether makes a sound of rushing wind like bellows 
as enormous as houses, blowing steadily in the dark- 
ness. 

‘Keep your seats!’ yelled Schreiermeyer desperately. 

He had been in many accidents, and understood the 
meaning of the noises he heard. There was death in 
them, death for the weak by squeezing, and smothering, 


CHAP. I 


THE PRIMADONNA 


5 


and trampling underfoot. It was a grim moment, 
and no one who was there has forgotten it, the manager 
least of all. 

‘It's only a fuse gone!’ he shouted. 'Only a plug 
burnt out!’ 

But the terrified throng did not believe, and the 
people pressed upon each other with the weight of 
hundreds of bodies, thronging from behind, towards 
the little red fights. There were groans now, besides 
the strained breathing and the soft shuffling of many 
feet on the thick carpets. Each time some one went 
down there was a groan, stifled as instantly and surely 
as though the lips from which it came were quickly 
thrust under water. 

Schreiermeyer knew well enough that if nothing 
could be done within the next two minutes there would 
be an awful catastrophe; but he was helpless. No 
doubt the electricians were at work; in ten minutes the 
damage would be repaired and the fights would be up 
again; but the house would be empty then, except for 
the dead and the dying. 

Another groan was heard, and another quickly after 
it. The wretched manager yelled, stormed, stamped, 
entreated, and promised, but with no effect. In the 
very faint red fight from the doors he saw a moving sea 
of black and heard it surging to his very feet. He had 
an old professional's exact sense of passing time, and he 
knew that a full minute had already gone by since the 
explosion. No one could be dead yet, even in that press, 
but there were few seconds to spare, fewer and fewer. 


6 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. I 


Then another sound was heard, a very pure strong 
note, high above his own tones, a beautiful round note, 
that made one think of gold and silver bells, and that 
filled the house instantly, like light, and reached every 
ear, even through the terror that was driving the crowd 
mad in the dark. 

A moment more, an instant’s pause, and Cordova 
had begun Lucia’s song again at the beginning, and her 
marvellous trills and staccato notes, and trills again, 
trills upon trills without end, filled the vast darkness 
and stopped those four thousand men and women, spell- 
bound and silent, and ashamed too. 

It was not great music, surely; but it was sung by 
the greatest living singer, singing alone in the dark, as 
calmly and as perfectly as if all the orchestra had been 
with her, singing as no one can who feels the least tremor 
of fear; and the awful tension of the dark throng relaxed, 
and the breath that came was a great sigh of relief, for 
it was not possible to be frightened when a fearless 
woman was singing so marvellously. 

Then, still in the dark, some of the musicians struck 
in and supported her, and others followed, till the whole 
body of harmony was complete; and just as she was at 
the wildest trills, at the very passage during which the 
crash had come, the lights went up all at once; and there 
stood Cordova in white and lace, with her eyes half shut 
and shaking her outstretched hands as she always 
made them shake in the mad scene; and the stage was 
just as it had been before the accident, except that 
Schreiermeyer was standing near the singer in evening 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. I 


7 


dress with a perfectly new and shiny high hat on the 
back of his head, and his mouth wide open. 

The people were half hysterical from the past danger, 
and when they saw, and realised, they did not wait for 
the end of the air, but sent up such a shout of applause 
as had never been heard in the Opera before and may 
not be heard there again. 

Instinctively the Primadonna sang the last bars, 
though no one heard her in the din, unless it was Schreier- 
meyer, who stood near her. When she had finished at 
last he ran up to her and threw both his arms round 
her in a paroxysm of gratitude, regardless of her powder 
and chalk, which came off upon his coat and yellow 
beard in patches of white as he kissed her on both 
cheeks, calling her by every endearing name that 
occurred to his polyglot memory, from Sweetheart in 
English to Little Cabbage in French, till Cordova 
laughed and pushed him away, and made a tremendous 
courtesy to the audience. 

Just then a man in a blue jacket and gilt buttons 
entered from the left of the stage and whispered a few 
words into Schreiermeyer’s ear. The manager looked 
grave at once, nodded and came forward to the promp- 
ter's box. The man had brought news of the accident, 
he said; a quantity of dynamite which was to have been 
used in subterranean blasting had exploded and had 
done great damage, no one yet knew how great. It 
was probable that many persons had been killed. 

But for this news, Cordova would have had one of 
those ovations which rarely fall to the lot of any but 


8 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. I 


famous singers, for there was not a man or woman in 
the theatre who had not felt that she had averted a 
catastrophe and saved scores of lives. As it was, 
several women had been slightly hurt and at least fifty 
had fainted. Every one was anxious to help them 
now, most of all the very people who had hurt them. 

But the news of an accident in the city emptied the 
house in a few minutes; even now that the lights were 
up the anxiety to get out to the street and to know 
more of the truth was great enough to be dangerous, 
and the strong crowd heaved and surged again and 
pushed through the many doors with little thought for 
the weak or for any who had been injured in the first 
panic. 

But in the meantime Cordova had reached her dress- 
ing-room, supported by the enthusiastic Schreiermeyer 
on one side, and by the equally enthusiastic tenor on 
the other, while the singular family party assembled in 
the last act of Lucia di Lammermoor brought up the rear 
with many expressions of admiration and sympathy. 

As a matter of fact the Primadonna needed neither 
sympathy nor support, and that sort of admiration was 
not of the kind that most delighted her. She did not 
believe that she had done anything heroic, and did not 
feel at all inclined to cry. 

‘You saved the whole audience ! 7 cried Signor Pompeo 
Stromboli, the great Italian tenor, who presented an 
amazing appearance in his Highland dress. ‘Four 
thousand seven hundred and fifty- three people owe 
you their lives at this moment! Every one of them 


CHAP. I 


THE PRIMADONNA 


9 


would have been dead but for your superb coolness! 
Ah, you are indeed a great woman!’ 

Schreiermeyer’s business ear had caught the figures. 
As they walked, each with an arm through one of the 
Primadonna’s, he leaned back and spoke to Stromboli 
behind her head. 

‘How the devil do you know what the house was?’ 
he asked sharply. 

‘I always know/ answered the Italian in a perfectly 
matter-of-fact tone. ‘My dresser finds out from the 
box-office. I never take the C sharp if there are less 
than three thousand.’ 

‘I’ll stop that!’ growled Schreiermeyer. 

‘As you please!’ Stromboli shrugged his massive 
shoulders. ‘C sharp is not in the engagement!’ 

‘It shall be in the next! I won’t sign without it!’ 

‘I won’t sign at all!’ retorted the tenor with a sneer 
of superiority. ‘You need not talk of conditions, for 
I shall not come to America again!’ 

. ‘Oh, do stop quarrelling!’ laughed Cordova as they 
reached the door of her box, for she had heard similar 
amenities exchanged twenty times already, and she 
knew that they meant nothing at all on either side. 

‘Have you any beer?’ inquired Stromboli of the 
Primadonna, as if nothing had happened. 

‘Bring some beer, Bob!’ Schreiermeyer called out 
over his shoulder to some one in the distance. 

‘Yes, sir,’ answered a rough voice, far off, and with 
a foreign accent. 

The three entered the Primadonna’s dressing-room 


10 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. I 


together. It was a hideous place, as all dressing-rooms 
are which are never used two days in succession by the 
same actress or singer; very different from the pretty 
cells in the beehive of the Comedie Frangaise where 
each pensioner or shareholder is lodged like a queen bee 
by herself, for years at a time. 

The walls of Cordova’s dressing-room were more 
or less white-washed where the plaster had not been 
damaged. There was a dingy full-length mirror, a 
shabby toilet-table; there were a few crazy chairs, 
the wretched furniture which is generally to be found 
in actresses’ dressing-rooms, notwithstanding the mar- 
vellous descriptions invented by romancers. But there 
was light in abundance and to excess, dazzling, unshaded, 
intolerable to any but theatrical eyes. There were at 
least twenty strong electric lamps in the miserable 
place, which illuminated the coarsely painted faces of 
the Primadonna and the tenor with alarming distinct- 
ness, and gleamed on Schreiermeyer’s smooth fair hair 
and beard, and impassive features. 

‘You’ll have two columns and a portrait in every 
paper to-morrow,’ he observed thoughtfully. ‘It’s 
worth while to engage such people. Oh yes, damn it, 
I tell you it’s worth while!’ 

The last emphatic sentence was intended for Strom- 
boli, as if he had contradicted the statement, or were 
himself not ‘worth while.’ 

‘There’s beer there already,’ said the tenor, seeing a 
bottle and glass on a deal table, and making for them 
at once. 


CHAP. I 


THE PRIMADONNA 


11 


He undid the patent fastening, stood upright with 
his sturdy stockinged legs wide apart, threw his head 
back, opened his huge painted mouth to the necessary 
extent, but not to the full, and without touching his 
lips poured the beer into the chasm in a gurgling stream, 
which he swallowed without the least apparent difficulty. 
When he had taken down half the contents of the small 
bottle he desisted and poured the rest into the glass, 
apparently for Cordova’s benefit. 

C I hope I have left you enough/ he said, as he pre- 
pared to go. ‘My throat felt like a rusty gun-barrel.’ 

‘Fright is very bad for the voice,’ Schreiermeyer re- 
marked, as the call-boy handed him another bottle of 
beer through the open door. 

Stromboli took no notice of the direct imputation. 
He had taken a very small and fine handkerchief from 
his sporran and was carefully tucking it into his collar 
with some idea of protecting his throat. When this 
was done his admiration for his colleague broke out 
again without the slightest warning. 

‘You were superb, magnificent, surpassing!’ he cried. 

He seized Cordova’s chalked hands, pressed them to 
his own whitened chin, by sheer force of stage habit, 
because the red on his lips would have come off on 
them, and turned away. 

‘Surpassing! Magnificent! What a woman!’ he 
roared in tremendous tones as he strode away through 
the dim corridor towards the stage and his own dress- 
ing-room on the other side. 

Meanwhile Schreiermeyer, who was quite as thirsty 


12 


THE PRIMADONNA 


chap. I 


as the tenor, drank what the latter had left in the 
only glass there was, and set the full bottle beside the 
latter on the deal table. 

•'There is your beer/ he said, calling attention to what 
he had done. 

Cordova nodded carelessly and sat down on one of 
the crazy chairs before the toilet-table. Her maid at 
once came forward and took off her wig, and her own 
beautiful brown hair appeared, pressed and matted 
close to her head in a rather disorderly coil. 

'You must be tired/ said the manager, with more 
consideration than he often showed to any one whose 
next engagement was already signed. 'I’ll find out 
how many were killed in the explosion and then I’ll get 
hold of the reporters. You’ll have two columns and a 
picture to-morrow.’ 

Schreiermeyer rarely took the trouble to say good- 
morning or good-night, and Cordova heard the door 
shut after him as he went out. 

'Lock it/ she said to her maid. 'I’m sure that mad- 
man is about the theatre again.’ 

The maid obeyed with alacrity. She was very tall 
and dark, and when she had entered Cordova’s service 
two years ago she had been positively cadaverous. 
She herself said that her appearance had been the result 
of living many years with the celebrated Madame 
Bonanni, who was a whirlwind, an earthquake, a phe- 
nomenon, a cosmic force. No one who had lived with her 
in her stage days had ever grown fat; it was as much as 
a very strong constitution could do not to grow thin. 


CHAP. I 


THE PRIMADONNA 


13 


Madame Bonanni had presented the cadaverous 
woman to the young Primadonna as one of the most 
precious of her possessions, and out of sheer affection. 
It was true that since the great singer had closed her 
long career and had retired to live in the country, in 
Provence, she dressed with such simplicity as made it 
possible for her to exist without the long-faithful, all- 
skilful, and iron-handed Alphonsine; and the maid, on 
her side, was so thoroughly a professional theatrical 
dresser that she must have died of inanition in what she 
would have called private life. Lastly, she had heard 
that Madame Bonanni had now given up the semblance, 
long far from empty, but certainly vain, of a waist, and 
dressed herself in a garment resembling a priest’s cas- 
sock, buttoned in front from her throat to her toes. 

Alphonsine locked the door, and the Primadonna 
leaned her elbows on the sordid toilet-table and stared 
at her chalked and painted face, vaguely trying to 
recognise the features of Margaret Donne, the daughter 
of the quiet Oxford scholar, her real self as she had been 
two years ago, and by no means very different from her 
everyday self now. But it was iiot easy. Margaret 
was there, no doubt, behind the paint and the ‘liquid 
white/ but the reality was what the public saw beyond 
the footlights two or three times a week during the 
opera season, and applauded with might and main as the 
most successful lyric soprano of the day. 

There were moments when she tried to get hold of 
herself and bring herself back. They came most often 
after some great emotion in the theatre, when the sight 


14 


THE PRIMADONNA 


chap. I 


of the painted mask in the glass shocked and disgusted 
her as it did to-night; when the contrasts of life were 
almost more than she could bear, when her sensibilities 
awoke again, when the fastidiousness of the delicately 
nurtured girl revolted under the rough familiarity of 
such a comrade as Stromboli, and rebelled against the 
sordid cynicism of Schreiermeyer. 

She shuddered at the mere idea that the manager 
should have thought she would drink out of the glass 
he had just used. Even the Italian peasant, who had 
been a goatherd in Calabria, and could hardly write 
his name, showed more delicacy, according to his lights, 
which were certainly not dazzling. A faint ray of 
Roman civilisation had reached him through genera- 
tions of slaves and serfs and shepherds. But no such 
traditions of forgotten delicacy disturbed the manners 
of Schreiermeyer. The glass from which he had drunk 
was good enough for any primadonna in his company, 
and it was silly for any of them to give themselves airs. 
Were they not largely his creatures, fed from his hand, 
to work for him while they were young, and to be turned 
out as soon as they began to sing false? He was by no 
means the worst of his kind, as Margaret knew very 
well. 

She thought of her childhood, of her mother and of 
her father, both dead Jon^Jbgfore she had gone on the 
stage; and of that excellent and kind Mrs. Rushmore, 
her American mother’s American friend, who had taken 
her as her own daughter, and had loved her and cared 
for her, and had shed tears when Margaret insisted on 


CHAP. I 


THE PRIMADONNA 


15 


becoming a singer; who had fought for her, too, and 
had recovered for her a small fortune of which her 
mother had been cheated. For Margaret would have 
been more than well off without her profession, even 
when she had made her debut, and she had given up 
much to be a singer, believing that she knew what she 
was doing. 

But now she was ready to undo it all and to go back; 
at least she thought she was, as she stared at herself in 
the glass while the pale maid drew her hair back and 
fastened it far above her forehead with a big curved 
comb, as a preliminary to getting rid of paint and 
powder. At this stage of the operation the Primadonna 
was neither Cordova nor Margaret Donne; there was 
something terrifying about the exaggeratedly painted 
mask when the wig was gone and her natural hair was 
drawn tightly back. She thought she was like a mon- 
strous skinned rabbit with staring brown eyes. 

At first, with the inexperience of youth, she used to 
plunge her painted face into soapsuds and scrub vigor- 
ously till her own complexion appeared, a good deal 
overheated and temporarily shiny; but before long she 
had yielded to Alphonsine’s entreaties and representa- 
tions and had adopted the butter method, long familiar 
to chimney-sweeps. 

The butter lay ready; not in a lordly dish, but in a 
clean tin can with a cover, of the kind workmen use for 
fetching beer, and commonly called a ‘growler’ in New 
York, for some reason which escapes etymologists. 

Having got rid of the upper strata of white lace and 


16 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. I 


fine linen, artfully done up so as to tremble like 
aspen leaves with Lucia’s mad trills, Margaret pro- 
ceeded to butter her face thoroughly. It occurred 
to her just then that all the other artists who had ap- 
peared with her were presumably buttering their faces 
at the same moment, and that if the public could look 
in upon them it would be very much surprised indeed. 
At the thought she forgot what she had been thinking 
of and smiled. 

The maid, who was holding her hair back where it 
escaped the comb, smiled too, and evidently considered 
that the relaxation of Margaret’s buttered features 
was equivalent to a permission to speak. 

‘It was a great triumph for Madame,’ she observed. 
‘ All the papers will praise Madame to-morrow. Madame 
saved many lives.’ 

‘Was Mr. Griggs in the house?’ Margaret asked. ‘I 
did not see him.’ 

Alphonsine did not answer at once, and when she 
spoke her tone had changed. 

‘Yes, Madame. Mr. Griggs was in the house.’ 

Margaret wondered whether she had saved his life 
too, in his own estimation or in that of her maid, and 
while she pondered the question she buttered her nose 
industriously. 

Alphonsine took a commercial view of the case. 

‘If Madame would appear three times more in New 
York, before sailing, the manager would give ten thou- 
sand francs a night,’ she observed. 

Margaret said nothing to this, but she thought it 


CHAP. I 


THE PRIMADONNA 


17 


would be amusing to show herself to an admiring pub- 
lic in her present condition. 

‘ Madame is now a heroine/ continued Alphonsine, 
behind her. ‘ Madame can ask anything she pleases. 
Several milliardaires will now offer to marry Madame.’ 

‘Alphonsine/ answered Margaret, ‘you have no 
sense.’ 

The maid smiled, knowing that her mistress could 
not see even the reflection of the smile in the glass; but 
she said nothing. 

‘No sense/ Margaret repeated, with conviction. 
‘None at all.’ 

The maid allowed a few seconds to pass before she 
spoke again. 

‘Or if Madame would accept to sing in one or two 
private houses in New York, we could ask a very great 
price, more than the manager would give.’ 

‘I daresay.’ 

‘It is certain/ said Alphonsine. ‘At the French ball 
to which Madame kindly allowed me to go, the valet 
of Mr. Van Torp approached me.’ 

‘Indeed!’ exclaimed Cordova absently. ‘How very 
disagreeable!’ 

‘I see that Madame is not listening/ said Alphonsine, 
taking offence. 

What she said was so true that Margaret did not an- 
swer at all. Besides, the buttering process was finished, 
and it was time for the hot water. She went to the 
ugly stationary washstand and bent over it, while the 
maid kept her hair from her face. Alphonsine spoke 


18 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. I 


again when she was sure that her mistress could not 
possibly answer her. 

'Mr. Van Tor p’s valet asked me whether I thought 
Madame would be willing to sing in church, at the 
wedding, the day after to-morrow/ she said, holding 
the Primadonna’s back hair firmly. 

The head moved energetically under her hands. 
Margaret would certainly not sing at Mr. Van Torp’s 
wedding, and she even tried to say so, but her voice 
only bubbled and sputtered ineffectually through the 
soap and water. 

'I was sure Madame would not/ continued the maid, 
'though Mr. Van Torp’s valet said that money was no 
object. He had heard Mr. Van Torp say that he would 
give five thousand dollars to have Madame sing at his 
wedding.’ 

Margaret did not shake her head this time, nor try to 
speak, but Alphonsine heard the little impatient tap of 
her slipper on the wooden floor. It was not often that 
the Primadonna showed so much annoyance at any- 
thing; and of late, when she did, the cause had been 
connected with this same Mr. Van Torp. The mere 
mention of his name irritated her, and Alphonsine 
seemed to know it, and to take an inexplicable pleasure 
in talking about him — about Mr. Rufus Van Torp, 
formerly of Chicago, but now of New York. He was 
looked upon as the controlling intellect of the great 
Nickel Trust; in fact, he was the Nickel Trust himself, 
and the other men in it were mere dummies compared 
with him. He had sailed the uncertain waters of finance 


CHAP. I 


THE PRIMADONNA 


19 


for twenty years or more, and had been nearly ship- 
wrecked more than once, but at the time of this story 
he was on the top of the wave; and as his past was even 
more entirely a matter of conjecture than his future, it 
would be useless to inquire into the former or to specu- 
late about the latter. Moreover, in these break-neck 
days no time counts but the present, so far as reputa- 
tion goes; good fame itself now resembles righteousness 
chiefly because it clothes men as with a garment; and 
as we have the highest authority for assuming that 
charity covers a multitude of sins, we can hardly be 
surprised that it should be so generally used for that 
purpose. Rufus Van Torp’s charities were notorious, 
aggressive, and profitable. The same sums of money 
could not have bought as much mingled advertisement 
and immunity in any other way. 

‘Of course/ observed Alphonsine, seeing that Mar- 
garet would soon be able to speak again, ‘money is no 
object to Madame either V 

This subtle flattery was evidently meant to forestall 
reproof. But Margaret was now splashing vigorously, 
and as both taps were running the noise was as loud 
as that of a small waterfall; possibly she had not even 
heard the maid’s last speech. 

Some one knocked at the door, and knocked a second 
time almost directly. The Primadonna pushed Alphon- 
sine with her elbow, speaking being still impossible, 
and the woman understood that she was to answer the 
summons. 

She asked who was knocking, and some one answered. 


20 


THE PRIMADONNA 


chap. I 


'It is Mr. Griggs/ said Alphonsine. 

' Ask him to wait/ Margaret succeeded in saying. 

Alphonsine transmitted the message through the 
closed door, and listened for the answer. 

'He says that there is a lady dying in the manager’s 
room, who wants Madame/ said the maid, repeating 
what she heard. 

Margaret stood upright, turned quickly, and crossed 
the room to the door, mopping her face with a towel. 

'Who is it?’ she asked in an anxious tone. 

'I’m Griggs/ said a deep voice. 'Come at once, if 
you can, for the poor girl cannot last long.’ 

'One minute! Don’t go away — I’m coming out.’ 

Alphonsine never lost her head. A theatrical dresser 
who does is of no use. She had already brought the 
wide fur coat Margaret always wore after singing. 
In ten seconds the singer was completely clothed in it, 
and as she laid her hand on the lock to let herself out, 
the maid placed a dark Russian hood on her head from 
behind her and took the long ends twice round her 
throat. 

Mr. Griggs was a large bony man with iron-grey 
hair, who looked very strong. He had a sad face and 
deep-set grey eyes. He led the way without speaking, 
and Cordova walked quickly after him. Alphonsine 
did not follow, for she was responsible for the belong- 
ings that lay about in the dressing-room. The other 
doors on the women’s side, which is on the stage left 
and the audience’s right at the Opera, were all tightly 
closed. The stage itself was not dark yet, and the 


CHAP. I 


THE PRIMADONNA 


21 


carpenters were putting away the scenery of the last 
act as methodically as if nothing had happened. 

‘ Do you know her?’ Margaret asked of her companion 
as they hurried along the passage that leads into the 
house. 

‘ Barely. She is a Miss Bamberger, and she was to 
have been married the day after to-morrow, poor thing 
— to a millionaire. I always forget his name, though 
I’ve met him several times.’ 

‘Van Torp?’ asked Margaret as they hastened on. 

‘Yes. That’s it — the Nickel Trust man, you know.’ 

‘Yes,’ Margaret answered in a low tone. ‘I was 
asked to sing at the wedding.’ 

They reached the door of the manager’s room. The 
clerks from the box-office and several other persons 
employed about the house were whispering together 
in the little lobby. They made way for Cordova and 
looked with curiosity at Griggs, who was a well-known 
man of letters. 

Schreiermeyer stood at the half-closed inner door, 
evidently waiting. 

‘Come in,’ he said to Margaret. ‘The doctor is there.’ 

The room was flooded with electric light, and smelt 
of very strong Havana cigars and brandy. Margaret 
saw a slight figure in a red silk evening gown, lying at 
full length on an immense red leathern sofa. A young 
doctor was kneeling on the floor, bending down to press 
his ear against the girl’s side; he moved his head con- 
tinually, listening for the beating of her heart. Her 
face was of a type every one knows, and had a certain 


22 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. I 


half-pathetic prettiness; the features were small, and 
the chin was degenerate but delicately modelled. The 
rather colourless fair hair was elaborately done ; her thin 
cheeks were dreadfully white, and her thin neck shrank 
painfully each time she breathed out, though it grew 
smooth and full as she drew in her breath. A short 
string of very large pearls was round her throat, and 
gleamed in the light as her breathing moved them. 

Schreiermeyer did not let Griggs come in, but went 
out to him, shut the door and stood with his back to it. 

Margaret did not look behind her, but crossed directly 
to the sofa and leaned over the dying girl, who was 
conscious and looked at her with inquiring eyes, not 
recognising her. 

‘You sent for me/ said the singer gently. 

‘Are you really Madame Cordova?’ asked the girl 
in a faint tone. 

It was as much as she could do to speak at all, and 
the doctor looked up to Margaret and raised his hand 
in a warning gesture, meaning that his patient should 
not be allowed to talk. She saw his movement and 
smiled faintly, and shook her head. 

‘No one can save me/ she said to him, quite quietly 
and distinctly. ‘Please leave us together, doctor.’ 

‘I am altogether at a loss/ the doctor answered, 
speaking to Margaret as he rose. ‘There are no signs 
of asphyxia, yet the heart does not respond to stimu- 
lants. I’ve tried nitro-glycerine ’ 

‘Please, please go away!’ begged the girl. 

The doctor was a young surgeon from the nearest 


CHAP. I 


THE PRIMADONNA 


23 


hospital, and hated to leave his case. He was going to 
argue the point, but Margaret stopped him. 

‘Go into the next room for a moment, please/ she 
said authoritatively. 

He obeyed with a bad grace, and went into the 
empty office which adjoined the manager's room, but 
he left the door open. Margaret knelt down in his 
place and took the girl's cold white hand. 

‘Can he hear?' asked the faint voice. 

‘Speak low,’ Margaret answered. ‘What can I do?' 

‘It is a secret,’ said the girl. ‘The last I shall ever 
have, but I must tell some one before I die. I know 
about you. I know you are a lady, and very good and 
kind, and I have always admired you so much ! ' 

‘You can trust me,' said the singer. ‘What is the 
secret I am to keep for you?' 

‘Do you believe in God? I do, but so many people 
don't nowadays, you know. Tell me.' 

‘Yes,’ Margaret answered, wondering. ‘Yes, I do.' 

‘Will you promise, by the God you believe in?’ 

‘I promise to keep your secret, so help me God in 
Heaven/ said Margaret gravely. 

The girl seemed relieved, and closed her eyes for a 
moment. She was so pale and still that Margaret 
thought the end had come, but presently she drew breath 
again and spoke, though it was clear that she had not 
much strength left. 

‘You must not keep the secret always/ she said. 
‘You may tell him you know it. Yes — let him know 
that you know — if you think it best ' 


24 


THE PRIMADONNA 


chap. I 


‘Who is he?’ 

‘Mr. Van Torp.' 

‘Yes?’ Margaret bent her ear to the girl's lips and 
waited. 

Again there was a pause of many seconds, and then 
the voice came once more, with a great effort that only 
produced very faint sounds, scarcely above a whisper. 

‘He did it.' 

That was all. At long intervals the dying girl drew 
deep breaths, longer and longer, and then no more. 
Margaret looked anxiously at the still face for some time, 
and then straightened herself suddenly. 

‘Doctor! Doctor!' she cried. 

The young man was beside her in an instant. For a 
full minute there was no sound in the room, and he bent 
over the motionless figure. 

‘I’m afraid I can't do anything,' he said gently, and 
he rose to his feet. 

‘Is she really dead?' Margaret asked, in an under- 
tone. 

‘Yes. Failure of the heart, from shock.' 

‘Is that what you will call it?' 

‘That is what it is,' said the doctor with a little 
emphasis of offence, as if his science had been doubted. 
‘You knew her, I suppose?' 

‘No. I never saw her before. I will call Shreier- 
meyer.’ 

She stood still a moment longer, looking down at the 
dead face, and she wondered what it all meant, and 
why the poor girl had sent for her, and what it was 


CHAP. I 


THE PRIMADONNA 


25 


that Mr. Van Torp had done. Then she turned very 
slowly and went out. 

‘Dead. I suppose/ said Schreiermeyer as soon as he 
saw the Primadonna’s face. ‘ Her relations won't get 
here in time.’ 

Margaret nodded in silence and went on through the 
lobby. 

‘The rehearsal is at eleven/ the manager called out 
after her, in his wooden voice. 

She nodded again, but did not look back. Griggs 
had waited in order to take her back to her dressing- 
room, and the two crossed the stage together. It was 
almost quite dark now, and the carpenters were gone 
away. 

‘Thank you/ Margaret said. ‘If you don't care to 
go all the way back you can get out by the stage door.' 

‘Yes. I know the way in this theatre. Before I 
say good-night, do you mind telling me what the doctor 
said?' 

‘He said she died of failure of the heart, from shock. 
Those were his words. Why do you ask?' 

‘Mere curiosity. I helped to carry her — that is, I 
carried her myself to the manager's room, and she 
begged me to call you, so I came to your door.' 

‘It was kind of you. Perhaps it made a difference 
to her, poor girl. Good-night.' 

‘Good-night. When do you sail?' 

‘On Saturday. I sing “Juliet" on Friday night and 
sail the next morning.' 

‘On the Leofric V 


26 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. I 


4 Yes/ 

‘So do I. We shall cross together/ 

‘How delightful! I’m so glad! Good-night again/ 

Alphonsine was standing at the open door of the 
dressing-room in the bright light, and Margaret nodded 
and went in. The maid looked after the elderly man 
till he finally disappeared, and then she went in too and 
locked the door after her. 

Griggs walked home in the bitter March weather. 
When he was in New York, he lived in rooms on the 
second floor of an old business building not far from 
Fifth Avenue. He was quite alone in the house at night, 
and had to walk up the stairs by the help of a little 
electric pocket-lantern he carried. He let himself into 
his own door, turned up the light, slipped off his over- 
coat and gloves, and went to the writing-table to get 
his pipe. That is very often the first thing a man does 
when he gets home at night. 

The old briar pipe he preferred to any other lay on 
the blotting-paper in the circle where the light was 
brightest. As he took it a stain on his right hand caught 
his eye, and he dropped the pipe to look at it. The 
blood was dark and was quite dry, and he could not find 
any scratch to account for it. It was on the inner 
side of his right hand, between the thumb and fore- 
finger, and was no larger than an ordinary watch. 

‘How very odd!’ exclaimed Mr. Griggs aloud; and he 
turned his hand this way and that under the electric 
lamp, looking for some small wound which he supposed 
must have bled. There was a little more inside his 


CHAP. I 


THE PRIMADONNA 


27 


fingers, and between them, as if it had oozed through 
and then had spread over his knuckles. 

But he could find nothing to account for it. He was 
an elderly man who had lived all over the world and 
had seen most things, and he was not easily surprised, 
but he was puzzled now. Not the least strange thing 
was that the stain should be as small as it was and yet 
so dark. He crossed the room again and examined the 
front of his overcoat with the most minute attention. 
It was made of a dark frieze, almost black, on which a 
red stain would have shown very little ; but after a very 
careful search Griggs was convinced that the blood 
which had stained his hand had not touched the cloth. 

He went into his dressing-room and looked at his face 
in his shaving-glass, but there was certainly no stain 
on the weather-beaten cheeks or the furrowed forehead. 

‘How very odd!’ he exclaimed a second time. 

He washed his hands slowly and carefully, examining 
them again and again, for he thought it barely possible 
that the skin might have been cracked somewhere by 
the cutting March wind, and might have bled a little, 
but he could not find the least sign of such a thing. 

When he was finally convinced that he could not 
account for the stain he had now washed off, he filled 
his old pipe thoughtfully and sat down in a big shabby 
armchair beside the table to think over other questions 
more easy of solution. For he was a philosophical man, 
and when he could not understand a matter he was 
able to put it away in a safe place, to be kept until he 
got more information about it. 


28 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. I 


The next morning, amidst the flamboyant accounts 
of the subterranean explosion, and of the heroic con- 
duct of Madame Margarita da Cordova, the famous 
Primadonna, in checking a dangerous panic at the Opera, 
all the papers found room for a long paragraph about 
Miss Ida H. Bamberger, who had died at the theatre 
in consequence of the shock her nerves had received, 
and who was to have married the celebrated capitalist 
and philanthropist, Mr. Van Torp, only two days later. 
-^There were various dramatic and heart-rending accounts 
of her death, and most of them agreed that she had 
breathed her last amidst her nearest and dearest, who 
had been with her all the evening. 

But Mr. Griggs read these paragraphs thoughtfully, 
for he remembered that he had found her lying in a heap 
behind a red baize door which his memory could easily 
identify. 

After all, the least misleading notice was the one in 
the column of deaths: — 

BAMBERGER. — On Wednesday, of heart-failure 
from shock, Ida Hamilton, only child of Hannah 
Moon by her former marriage with Isidore Bamberger. 
California papers please copy. 


CHAPTER II 


In the lives of professionals, whatever their profession 
may be, the ordinary work of the day makes very little 
impression on the memory, whereas a very strong and 
lasting one is often made by circumstances which a man 
of leisure or a woman of the world might barely notice, 
and would soon forget. In Margaret’s life there were- 
but two sorts of days, those on which she was to sing 
and those on which she was at liberty. In the one case 
she had a cutlet at five o’clock, and supper when she 
came home; in the other, she dined like other people 
and went to bed early. At the end of a season in New 
York, the evenings on which she had sung all seemed 
to have been exactly alike; the people had always ap- 
plauded at the same places, she had always been called 
out about the same number of times, she had always 
felt very much the same pleasure and satisfaction, and 
she had invariably eaten her supper with the same 
appetite. Actors lead far more emotional lives than 
singers, partly because they have the excitement of a 
new piece much more often, with the tremendous ner- 
vous strain of a first night, and largely because they are 
not obliged to keep themselves in such perfect training. 
To an actor a cold, an indigestion, or a headache is 
doubtless an annoyance; but to a leading singer such 
an accident almost always means the impossibility of 
29 


30 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. II 


appearing at all, with serious loss of money to the artist, 
and grave disappointment to the public. The result of 
all this is that singers, as a rule, are much more normal, 
healthy, and well-balanced people than other musicians, 
or than actors. Moreover they generally have very 
strong bodies and constitutions to begin with, and when 
they have not they break down young. 

Paul Griggs had an old traveller’s preference for 
having plenty of time, and he was on board the steamer 
on Saturday a full hour before she was to sail; his not 
very numerous belongings, which looked as weather- 
beaten as himself, were piled up unopened in his cabin, 
and he himself stood on the upper promenade deck 
watching the passengers as they came on board. He 
was an observant man, and it interested him to note 
the expression of each new face that appeared; for the 
fact of starting on a voyage across the ocean is apt to 
affect people inversely as their experience. Those who 
cross often look so unconcerned that a casual observer 
might think they were not to start at all, whereas those 
who are going for the first time are either visibly flurried, 
or are posing to look as if they were not, though they 
are intensely nervous about their belongings; or they 
try to appear as if they belonged to the ship, or else as 
if the ship belonged to them, making observations which 
are supposed to be nautical, but which instantly stamp 
them as unutterable land-lubbers in the shrewd esti- 
mation of the stewards; and the latter, as every old 
hand is aware, always know everything much better 
than the captain. 


CHAP. II 


THE PRIMADONNA 


31 


Margaret Donne had been the most sensible and 
simple of young girls, and when she appeared at the 
gangway very quietly dressed in brown, with a brown 
fur collar, a brown hat, a brown veil, and a brown 
parasol, there was really nothing striking to distinguish 
her from other female passengers, except her good looks 
and her well-set-up figure. Yet somehow it seems im- 
possible for a successful primadonna ever to escape 
notice. Instead of one maid, for instance, Cordova had 
two, and they carried rather worn leathern boxes that 
were evidently heavy jewel-cases, which they clutched 
with both hands and refused to give up to the stewards. 
They also had about them the indescribable air of rather 
aggressive assurance which belongs especially to highly- 
paid servants, men and women. Their looks said to 
every one: ‘We are the show and you are the public, 
so don’t stand in the way, for if you do the performance 
cannot go on!’ They gave their orders about their 
mistress’s things to the chief steward as if he were 
nothing better than a railway porter or a call-boy at 
the theatre; and, strange to say, that exalted capitalist 
obeyed with a docility he would certainly not have 
shown to any other passenger less than royal. They 
knew their way everywhere, they knew exactly what 
the best of everything was, and they made it clear that 
the great singer would have nothing less than the very, 
very best. She had the best cabin already, and she 
was to have the best seat at table, the best steward 
and the best stewardess, and her deck-chair was to be 
always in the best place on the upper promenade deck; 


32 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. II 


and there was to be no mistake about it; and if anybody 
questioned the right of Margarita da Cordova, the great 
lyric soprano, to absolute precedence during the whole 
voyage, from start to finish, her two maids would know 
the reason why, and make the captain and all the ship’s 
company wish they were dead. 

That was their attitude. 

But this was not all. There were the colleagues who 
came to see Margaret off and wished that they were 
going too. In spite of the windy weather there was 
Signor Pompeo Stromboli, the tenor, as broad as any 
two ordinary men, in a fur coat of the most terribly 
expensive sort, bringing an enormous box of chocolates 
with his best wishes; and there was the great German 
dramatic barytone, Herr Tiefenbach, who sang ‘Am- 
f ortas’ better than any one, and was a true musician 
as well as a man of culture, and he brought Margaret 
a book which he insisted that she must read on the 
voyage, called The Genesis of the Tone Epos; and there 
was that excellent and useful little artist, Fraulein 
Ottilie Braun, who never had an enemy in her life, who 
was always ready to sing any part creditably at a mo- 
ment’s notice if one of the leading artists broke down, 
and who was altogether one of the best, kindest, and 
least conceited human beings that ever joined an opera 
company. She brought her great colleague a little 
bunch of violets. 

Least expected of them all, there was Schreiermeyer, 
with a basket of grape fruit in his tightly-gloved podgy 
hands; and he was smiling cheerfully, which was an 


CHAP. II 


THE PRIMADONNA 


33 


event in itself. They followed Margaret up to the 
promenade deck after her maids had gone below, and 
stood round her in a group, all talking at once in different 
languages. 

Griggs chanced to be the only other passenger on that 
part of the deck and he joined the party, for he knew 
them all. Margaret gave him her hand quietly and 
nodded to him. Signor Stromboli was effusive in his 
greeting; Herr Tiefenbach gave him a solemn grip; little 
Fraulein Ottilie smiled pleasantly, and Schreiermeyer 
put into his hands the basket he carried, judging that 
as he could not get anything else out of the literary 
man he could at least make him carry a parcel. 

‘ Grape fruit for Cordova/ he observed. ‘You can 
give it to the steward, and tell him to keep the things 
in a cool place/ 

Griggs took the basket with a slight smile, but Strom- 
boli snatched it from him instantly, and managed at 
the same time to seize upon the book Herr Tiefenbach 
had brought without dropping his own big box of 
sweetmeats. 

‘I shall give everything to the waiter!’ he cried with 
exuberant energy as he turned away. ‘He shall take 
care of Cordova with his conscience! I tell you, I will 
frighten him!’ 

This was possible, and even probable. Margaret 
looked after the broad figure. 

‘Dear old Stromboli!’ she laughed. 

‘He has the kindest heart in the world,’ said little 
Fraulein Ottilie Braun. 


34 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. II 


‘He is no a musician/ observed Herr Tiefenbach; 
‘but he does not sing out of tune . 7 

‘He is a lunatic/ said Schreiermeyer gravely. ‘All 
tenors are lunatics — except about money/ he added 
thoughtfully. 

‘I think Stromboli is very sensible/ said Margaret, 
turning to Griggs. ‘He brings his little Calabrian wife 
and her baby out with him, and they take a small 
house for the winter and Italian servants, and live just 
as if they were in their own country and see only their 
Italian friends — instead of being utterly wretched in a 
horrible hotel . 7 

‘For the modest consideration of a hundred dollars 
a day/ put in Griggs, who was a poor man. 

‘I wish my bills were never more than that ! 7 Margaret 
laughed. 

‘Yes/ said Schreiermeyer, still thoughtful. ‘Strom- 
boli understands money. He is a man of business. 
He makes his wife cook for him . 7 

‘I often cook for myself/ said Fraulein Ottilie quite 
simply. ‘If I had a husband, I would cook for him 
too ! 7 She laughed like a child, without the slightest 
sourness. ‘It is easier to cook well than to marry at 
all, even badly ! 7 

‘I do not at all agree with you/ answered Herr 
Tiefenbach severely. ‘Without flattering myself, I may 
say that my wife married well; but her potato dumplings 
are terrifying . 7 

‘You were never married, were you ? 7 Margaret asked, 
turning to Griggs with a smile. 


CHAP. II 


THE PRIMADONNA 


35 


‘No/ he answered. ‘Can you make potato dump- 
lings, and are you in search of a husband V 

‘It is the other way/ said Schreiermeyer, ‘for the 
husbands are always after her. Talking of marriage, 
that girl who died the other night was to have been 
married to Mr. Van Torp yesterday, and they were to 
have sailed with you this morning.’ 

‘I saw his name on the ’ Schreiermeyer began, 

but he was interrupted by a tremendous blast from the 
ship’s horn, the first warning for non-passengers to go 
ashore. 

Before the noise stopped Stromboli appeared again, 
looking very much pleased with himself, and twisting 
up the short black moustache that was quite lost on 
his big face. When he was nearer he desisted from 
twirling, shook a fat forefinger at Margaret and laughed. 

‘Oh, well, then/ he cried, translating his Italian 
literally into English, ‘I’ve been in your room, Miss 
Cordova! Who is this Tom, eh? Flowers from Tom, 
one! Sweets from Tom, two! A telegram from Tom, 
three! Tom, Tom, Tom; it is full of Tom, her room! 
In the end, what is this Tom? For me, I only know 
Tom the ruffian in the Ballo in Maschera. That is all 
the Tom I know!’ 

They all looked at Margaret and laughed. She 
blushed a little, more out of annoyance than from 
any other reason. 

‘The maids wished to put me out/ laughed Stromboli, 
‘but they could not, because I am big. So I read 
everything. If I tell you I read, what harm is there?’ 


36 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. II 


‘None whatever/ Margaret answered, ‘except that it 
is bad manners to open other people’s telegrams.’ 

‘Oh, that! The maid had opened it with water, and 
was reading when I came. So I read too! You shall 
find it all well sealed again, have no fear! They all do 
so.’ 

‘Pleasant journey,’ said Schreiermeyer abruptly. ‘I’m 
going ashore. I’ll see you in Paris in three weeks.’ 

‘Read the book,’ said Herr Tiefenbach earnestly, as 
he shook hands. ‘It is a deep book.’ 

‘Do not forget me!’ cried Stromboli sentimentally, 
and he kissed Margaret’s gloves several times. 

‘Good-bye,’ said Fraulein Ottilie. ‘Every one is 
sorry when you go ! ’ 

Margaret was not a gushing person, but she stooped 
and kissed the cheerful little woman, and pressed her 
small hand affectionately. 

‘And everybody is glad when you come, my dear/ 
she said. 

For Fraulein Ottilie was perhaps the only person in 
the company whom Cordova really liked, and who did 
not jar dreadfully on her at one time or another. 

Another blast from the horn and they were all gone, 
leaving her and Griggs standing by the rail on the 
upper promenade deck. The little party gathered again 
on the pier when they had crossed the plank, and made 
farewell signals to the two, and then disappeared. Un- 
consciously Margaret gave a little sigh of relief, and 
Griggs noticed it, as he noticed most things, but said 
nothing. 


CHAP. II 


THE PRIMADONNA 


37 


There was silence for a while, and the gangplank was 
still in place when the horn blew a third time, longer 
than before. 

'How very odd!’ exclaimed Griggs, a moment after 
the sound had ceased. 

'What is odd?’ Margaret asked. 

She saw that he was looking down, and her eyes 
followed his. A square-shouldered man in mourning 
was walking up the plank in a leisurely way, followed 
by a well-dressed English valet, who carried a despatch- 
box in a leathern case. 

'It’s not possible!’ Margaret whispered in great 
surprise. 

'Perfectly possible/ Griggs answered, in a low voice. 
'That is Rufus Van Torp.’ 

Margaret drew back from the rail, though the new 
comer was already out of sight on the lower promenade 
deck, to which the plank was laid to suit the height of 
the tide. She moved away from the door of the first 
cabin companion. 

Griggs went with her, supposing that she wished to 
walk up and down. Numbers of other passengers were 
strolling about on the side next to the pier, waiting to 
see the start. Margaret went on forward, turned the 
deck-house and walked to the rail on the opposite side, 
where there was no one. Griggs glanced at her face 
and thought that she seemed disturbed. She looked 
straight before her at the closed iron doors of the next 
pier, at which no ship was lying. 

'I wish I knew you better/ she said suddenly. 


38 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. II 


Griggs looked at her quietly. It did not occur to 
him to make a trivial and complimentary answer to 
this advance, such as most men of the world would 
have made, even at his age. 

‘I shall be very glad if we ever know each other 
better/ he said after a short pause. 

‘So shall 1/ 

She leaned upon the rail and looked down at the 
eddying water. The tide had turned and was beginning 
to go out. Griggs watched her handsome profile in 
silence for a time. 

‘You have not many intimate friends, have you?’ 
she asked presently. 

‘No, only one or two.’ 

She smiled. 

‘I’m not trying to get confidences from you. But 
really, that is very vague. You must surely know 
whether you have only one, or whether there is another. 
I’m not suggesting myself as a third, either!’ 

‘Perhaps I’m over-cautious,’ Griggs said. ‘It does 
not matter. You began by saying that you wished 
you knew me better. You meant that if you did, you 
would either tell me something which you don’t tell 
everybody, or you would come to me for advice about 
something, or you would ask me to do something for 
you. Is that it?’ 

‘I suppose so.’ 

‘It was not very hard to guess. I’ll answer the 
three cases. If you want to tell me a secret, don’t. 
If you want advice without telling everything about the 


CHAP. II 


THE PRIMADONNA 


39 


case, it will be worthless. But if there is anything I 
can do for you, I’ll do it if I can, and I won’t ask any 
questions.’ 

‘ That’s kind and sensible/ Margaret answered. ‘ And 
I should not be in the least afraid to tell you anything. 
You would not repeat it.’ 

‘No, certainly not. But some day, unless we became 
real friends, you would think that I might, and then you 
would be very sorry.’ 

A short pause followed. 

‘We are moving,’ Margaret said, glancing at the iron 
doors again. 

‘Yes, we are off.’ 

There was another pause. Then Margaret stood up- 
right and turned her face to her companion. She did 
not remember that she had ever looked steadily into 
his eyes since she had known him. 

They were grey and rather deeply set under grizzled 
eyebrows that were growing thick and rough with 
advancing years, and they met hers quietly. She knew 
at once that she could bear their scrutiny for any 
length of time without blushing or feeling nervous, 
though there was something in them that was stronger 
than she. 

‘It’s this/ she said at last, as if she had been talking 
and had reached a conclusion. ‘I’m alone, and I’m a 
little frightened.’ 

‘You?’ Griggs smiled rather incredulously. 

‘Yes. Of course I’m used to travelling without any 
one and taking care of myself. Singers and actresses 


40 


THE ERIMADONNA 


CHAP. II 


are just like men in that, and it did not occur to me 
this morning that this trip could be different from any 
other/ 

'No. Why should it be so different? I don’t under- 
stand.’ 

'You said you would do something for me without 
asking questions. Will you?’ 

'If I can.’ 

'Keep Mr. Van Torp away from me during the voyage. 
I mean, as much as you can without being openly 
rude. Have my chair put next to some other woman’s 
and your own on my other side. Do you mind doing 
that?’ 

Griggs smiled. 

'No,’ he said, 'I don’t mind.’ 

'And if I am walking on deck and he joins me, come 
and walk beside me too. Will you? Are you quite 
sure you don’t mind?’ 

'Yes.’ He was still smiling. 'I’m quite certain that 
I don’t dislike the idea.’ 

'I wish I were sure of being seasick,’ Margaret said 
thoughtfully. 'It’s bad for the voice, but it would be 
a great resource.’ 

'As a resource, I shall try to be a good substitute 
for it,’ said Griggs. 

Margaret realised what she had said and laughed. 

'But it is no laughing matter,’ she answered, her face 
growing grave again after a moment. 

Griggs had promised not to ask questions, and he 
expressed no curiosity. 


CHAP. II THE PRIMADONNA 41 

‘As soon as you go below I’ll see about the chair/ 
he said. 

‘My cabin is on this deck/ Margaret answered. ‘I 
believe I have a tiny little sitting-room, too. It’s what 
they call a suite in their magnificent language, and the 
photographs in the advertisements make it look like a 
palatial apartment ! ' 

She left the rail as she spoke, and found her own 
door on the same side of the ship, not very far away. 

‘Here it is/ she said. ‘Thank you very much.' 

She looked into his eyes again for an instant and 
went in. 

She had forgotten Signor Stromboli and what he had 
said, for her thoughts had been busy with a graver 
matter, but she smiled when she saw the big bunch of 
dark red carnations in a water-jug on the table, and the 
little cylinder-shaped parcel which certainly contained 
a dozen little boxes of the chocolate ‘oublies' she liked, 
and the telegram, with its impersonal-looking address, 
waiting to be opened by her after having been opened, 
read, and sealed again by her thoughtful maids. Such 
trifles as the latter circumstance did not disturb her in 
the least, for though she was only a young woman of 
four and twenty, a singer and a musician, she had a 
philosophical mind, and considered that if virtue has 
nothing to do with the greatness of princes, moral worth 
need not be a clever lady's-maid's strong point. 

‘Tom' was her old friend Edmund Lushington, one 
of the most distinguished of the younger writers of the 
day. He was the only son of the celebrated soprano, 


42 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. II 


Madame Bonanni, now retired from the stage, by her 
marriage with an English gentleman of the name of 
Goodyear, and he had been christened Thomas. But 
his mother had got his name and surname legally changed 
when he was a child, thinking that it would be a disad- 
vantage to him to be known as her son, as indeed it 
might have been at first; even now the world did not 
know the truth about his birth, but it would not have 
cared, since he had won his own way. 

Margaret meant to marry him if she married at all, 
for he had been faithful in his devotion to her nearly 
three years; and his rivalry with Constantine Logotheti, 
her other serious adorer, had brought some complications 
into her life. But on mature reflection she was sure 
that she did not wish to marry any one for the present. 
So many of her fellow-singers had married young and 
married often, evidently following the advice of a great 
American humorist, and mostly with disastrous conse- 
quences, that Margaret preferred to be an exception, 
and to marry late if at all. 

In the glaring light of the twentieth century it at 
last clearly appears that marriageable young women 
have always looked upon marriage as the chief means 
of escape from the abject slavery and humiliating de- 
pendence hitherto imposed upon virgins between fifteen 
and fifty years old. Shakespeare lacked the courage to 
write the 1 Seven Ages of Woman/ a matter the more 
to be regretted as no other writer has ever possessed 
enough command of the English language to describe 
more than three out of the seven without giving offence : 


CHAP. II 


THE PRIMADONNA 


43 


namely, youth, which lasts from sixteen to twenty; 
perfection, which begins at twenty and lasts till further 
notice; and old age, which women generally place beyond 
seventy, though some, whose strength is not all sorrow 
and weakness even then, do not reach it till much later. 
If Shakespeare had dared he would have described with 
poetic fire the age of the girl who never marries. But 
this is a digression. The point is that the truth about 
marriage is out, since the modern spinster has shown 
the sisterhood how to five, and an amazing number of 
women look upon wedlock as a foolish thing, vainly 
imagined, never necessary* and rarely amusing. 

The state of perpetual unsanctified virginity, however, 
is not for poor girls, nor for operatic singers, nor for 
kings’ daughters, none of whom, for various reasons, 
can live, or are allowed to live, without husbands. 
Unless she be a hunchback, an unmarried royal princess 
is almost as great an exception as a white raven or a 
cat without a tail; a primadonna without a husband 
alive, dead, or divorced, is hardly more common; and 
poor girls marry to five. But give a modern young 
woman a decent social position, with enough money for 
her wants and an average dose of assurance, and she 
becomes so fastidious in the choice of a mate that no 
man is good enough for her till she is too old to be 
good enough for any man. Even then the chances are 
that she will not deeply regret her lost opportunities, 
and though her married friends will tell her that she 
has made a mistake, half of them will envy her in 
secret, the other half will not pity her much, and all 


44 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. II 


will ask her to their dinner-parties, because a woman 
without a husband is such a convenience. 

In respect to her art Margarita da Cordova was in all 
ways a thorough artist, endowed with the gifts, ani- 
mated by the feelings, a :.i afflicted with the failings 
that usually make up an artistic nature. But Margaret 
Donne was a sound and healthy English girl who had 
been brought up in the right way by a very refined and 
cultivated father and mother who loved her devotedly. 
If they had lived she would not have gone upon the 
stage; for as her mother’s friend Mrs. Rushmore had 
often told her, the mere thought of such a life for their 
daughter would have broken their hearts. She was a 
grown woman now, and high on the wave of increasing 
success and celebrity, but she still had a childish 
misgiving that she had disobeyed her parents and done 
something very wrong, just as when she had surrepti- 
tiously got into the jam cupboard at the age of five. 

Yet there are old-fashioned people alive even now 
who might think that there was less harm in becoming 
a public singer than in keeping Edmund Lushington 
dangLing on a string for two years and more. Those 
things are matters of opinion. Margaret would have 
answered that if he dangled it was his misfortune and 
not her fault, since she never, in her own opinion, had 
done anything to keep him, and would not have been 
broken-hearted if he had gone away, though she would 
have missed his friendship very much. Of the two, 
the man who had disturbed her maiden peace of mind 
was Logotheti, whom she feared and sometimes hated, 


CHAP. II 


THE PRIMADONNA 


45 


but who had an inexplicable power over her when they 
met: the sort of fateful influence which honest Britons 
commonly ascribe to all foreigners with black hair, 
good teeth, diamond studs, and the other outward signs 
of wickedness. Twice, at least, Logotheti had behaved 
in a manner positively alarming, and on the second 
occasion he had very nearly succeeded in carrying her 
off bodily from the theatre to his yacht, a fate from 
wdiich Lushington and his mother had been instrumental 
in saving her. Such doings were shockingly lawless, 
but they showed a degree of recklessly passionate ad- 
miration which was flattering from a young financier 
who was so popular with women that he found it 
infinitely easier to please than to be pleased. 

Perhaps, if Logotheti could have put on a little Anglo- 
Saxon coolness, Margaret might have married him by 
this time. Perhaps she would have married Lushington, 
if he could have suddenly been animated by a little 
Greek fire. As things stood, she told herself that she 
did not care to take a man who meant to be not only 
Ler master but her tyrant, nor one who seemed more 
inclined to be her slave than her master. 

Meanwhile, however, it was the Englishman who kept 
himself constantly in mind with her by an unbroken 
chain of small attentions that often made her smile 
but sometimes really touched her. Any one could cable 
‘ Pleasant voyage/ and sign the telegram ‘Tom/ which 
gave it a friendly and encouraging look, because some- 
how ‘Tom’ is a cheerful, plucky little name, very unlike 
‘Edmund/ But it was quite another matter, being in 


46 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. II 


England, to take the trouble to have carnations of just 
the right shade fresh on her cabin table at the moment 
of her sailing from New York, and beside them the only 
sort of chocolates she liked. That was more than a 
message, it was a visit, a presence, a real reaching out 
of hand to hand. 

Logotheti, on the contrary, behaved as if he had 
forgotten Margaret’s existence as soon as he was out 
of her sight; and they now no longer met often, but 
when they did he had a way of taking up the thread as 
if there had been no interval, which was almost as 
effective as his rival’s method; for it produced the im- 
pression that he had been thinking of her only, and of 
nothing else in the world since the last meeting, and 
could never again give a thought to any other woman. 
This also was flattering. He never wrote to her, he 
never telegraphed good wishes for a journey or a per- 
formance, he never sent her so much as a flower; he 
acted as if he were really trying to forget her, as perhaps 
he was. But when they met, he was no sooner in the 
same room with her than she felt the old disturbing 
influence she feared and yet somehow desired in spite 
of herself, and much as she preferred the companionship 
of Lushington and liked his loyal straightforward ways, 
and admired his great talent, she felt that he paled and 
seemed less interesting beside the vivid personality of 
the Greek financier. 

He was vivid; no other word expresses what he was, 
and if that one cannot properly be applied to a man, 
so much the worse for our language. His colouring was 


CHAP. II 


THE PRIMADONNA 


47 


too handsome, his clothes were too good, his shoes were 
too shiny, his ties too surprising, and he not only wore 
diamonds and rubies, but very valuable ones. Yet he 
was not vulgarly gorgeous; he was Oriental. No one 
would say that a Chinese idol covered with gold and 
precious stones was overdressed, but it would be out of 
place in a Scotch kirk; the minister would be thrown 
into the shade and the congregation would look at the 
idol. In society, which nowadays is far from a chiaros- 
curo, everybody looked at Logo the ti. If he had come 
from any place nearer than Constantinople people would 
have smiled and perhaps laughed at him; as it was, he 
was an exotic, and besides, he had the reputation of 
being dangerous to women’s peace, and extremely 
awkward to meddle with in a quarrel. 

Margaret sat some time in her little sitting-room 
reflecting on these things, for she knew that before 
many days were past she must meet her two adorers; 
and when she had thought enough about both, she 
gave orders to her maids about arranging her belongings. 
By and by she went to luncheon and found herself 
alone at some distance from the other passengers, next 
to the captain’s empty seat; but she was rather glad 
that her neighbours had not come to table, for she got 
what she wanted very quickly and had no reason for 
waiting after she had finished. 

Then she took a book and went on deck again, and 
Alphonsine found her chair on the sunny side and 
installed her in it very comfortably and covered her up, 
and to her own surprise she felt that she was very 


48 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. II 


sleepy; so that just as she was wondering why, she 
dozed off and began to dream that she was Isolde, on 
board of Tristan’s ship, and that she was singing the 
part, though she had never sung it and probably never 
would. 

When she opened her eyes again there was no land 
in sight, and the big steamer was going quietly with 
scarcely any roll. She looked aft and saw Paul Griggs 
leaning against the rail, smoking; and she turned her 
head the other way, and the chair next to her own on 
that side was occupied by a very pleasant-looking 
young woman who was sitting up straight and showing 
the pictures in a book to a beautiful little girl who stood 
beside her. 

The lady had a very quiet healthy face and smooth 
brown hair, and was simply and sensibly dressed. 
Margaret at once decided that she was not the child’s 
mother, nor an elder sister, but some one who had 
charge of her, though not exactly a governess. The 
child was about nine years old; she had a quantity of 
golden hair that waved naturally, and a spiritual face 
with deep violet eyes, a broad white forehead and a 
pathetic little mouth. 

She examined each picture, and then looked up 
quickly at the lady, keeping her wide eyes fixed on the 
latter’s face with an expression of watchful interest. 
The lady explained each picture to her, but in such a 
soft whisper that Margaret could not hear a sound. 
Yet the child evidently understood every word easily. 
It was natural to suppose that the lady spoke under 


CHAP. II 


THE PRIMADONNA 


49 


her breath in order not to disturb Margaret while she 
was asleep. 

‘It is very kind of you to whisper/ said the Prima- 
donna graciously, ‘but I am awake now.’ 

The lady turned with a pleasant smile. 

‘Thank you/ she answered. 

The child did not notice Margaret’s little speech, but 
looked up from the book for the explanation of the 
next picture. 

‘It is the inside of the Colosseum in Rome, and you 
will see it before long/ said the lady very distinctly. 
‘I have told you how the gladiators fought there, and 
how Saint Ignatius was sent all the way from Antioch 
to be devoured by lions there, like many other martyrs.’ 

The little girl watched her face intently, nodded 
gravely, and looked down at the picture again, but 
said nothing. The lady turned to Margaret. 

‘She was born deaf and dumb/ she said quietly, ‘but 
I have taught her to understand from the lips, and she 
can already speak quite well. She is very clever.’ 

‘Poor little thing!’ Margaret looked at the girl with 
increasing interest. ‘Such a little beauty, too! What 
is her name?’ 

‘Ida ’ 

The child had turned over the pages to another 
picture, and now looked up for the explanation of it. 
Griggs had finished his cigar and came and sat down 
on Margaret’s other side. 


CHAPTER III 


The Leofric was three days out, and therefore halfway 
over the ocean, for she was a fast boat, but so far Griggs 
had not been called upon to hinder Mr. Van Torp from 
annoying Margaret. Mr. Van Torp had not been on 
deck; in fact, he had not been seen at all since he had 
disappeared into his cabin a quarter of an hour before 
the steamer had left the pier. There was a good deal 
of curiosity about him amongst the passengers, as there 
would have been about the famous Primadonna if she 
had not come punctually to every meal, and if she had 
not been equally regular in spending a certain number 
of hours on deck every day. 

At first every one was anxious to have what people 
call a ‘good look’ at her, because all the usual legends 
were already repeated about her wherever she went. 
It was said that she was really an ugly woman of thirty- 
five who had been married to a Spanish count of twice 
that age, and that he had died leaving her penniless, 
so that she had been obliged to support herself by sing- 
ing. Others were equally sure that she was a beautiful 
escaped nun, who had been forced to take the veil in 
a convent in Seville by cruel parents, but who had 
succeeded in getting herself carried off by a Polish 
nobleman disguised as a priest. Every one remembered 
50 


CHAP. Ill 


THE PRIMADONNA 


51 


the marvellous voice that used to sing so high above all 
the other nuns, behind the lattice on Sunday afternoons 
at the church of the Dominican Convent. That had 
been the voice of Margarita da Cordova, and she could 
never go back to Spain, for if she did the Inquisition 
would seize upon her, and she would be tortured and 
probably burnt alive to encourage the other nuns. 

This was very romantic, but unfortunately there was 
a man who said he knew the plain truth about her, and 
that she was just a good-looking Irish girl whose father 
used to play the flute at a theatre in Dublin, and whose 
mother kept a sweetshop in Queen Street. The man 
who knew this had often seen the shop, which was con- 
clusive. 

Margaret showed herself daily and the myths lost 
value, for every one saw that she was neither an escaped 
Spanish nun nor the gifted offspring of a Dublin flute- 
player and a female retailer of bull's-eyes and butter- 
scotch, but just a handsome, healthy, well-brought-up 
young Englishwoman, who called herself Miss Donne in 
private life. 

But gossip, finding no hold upon her, turned and rent 
Mr. Van Torp, who dwelt within his tent like Achilles, 
but whether brooding or sea-sick no one was ever to, 
know. The difference of opinion about him was amaz- 
ing. Some said he had no heart, since he had not 
even waited for the funeral of the poor girl who was to 
have been his wife. Others, on the contrary, said that 
he was broken-hearted, and that his doctor had insisted 
upon his going abroad at once, doubtless considering, 


52 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. Ill 


as the best practitioners often do, that it is wisest to send 
a patient who is in a dangerous condition to distant 
shores, where some other doctor will get the credit of 
having killed him or driven him mad. Some said that 
Mr. Van Torp was concerned in the affair of that Chinese 
loan, which of course explained why he was forced to 
go to Europe in spite of the dreadful misfortune that 
had happened to him. The man who knew everything 
hinted darkly that Mr. Van Torp was not really solvent, 
and that he had perhaps left the country just at the 
right moment. 

‘That is nonsense/ said Miss More to Margaret in an 
undertone, for they had both heard what had just been 
said. 

Miss More was the lady in charge of the pretty deaf 
child, and the latter was curled up in the next chair 
with a little piece of crochet work. Margaret had soon 
found out that Miss More was a very nice woman, after 
her own taste, who was given neither to flattery nor to 
prying, the two faults from which celebrities are gener- 
ally made to suffer most by fellow-travellers who make 
their acquaintance. Miss More was evidently delighted 
to find herself placed on deck next to the famous singer, 
and Margaret was so well satisfied that the deck steward 
had already received a preliminary tip, with instructions 
to keep the chairs together during the voyage. 

‘Yes/ said Margaret, in answer to Miss More’s re- 
mark. ‘I don’t believe there is the least reason for 
thinking that Mr. Van Torp is not immensely rich. Do 
you know him?’ 


CHAP. Ill 


THE PRIMADONNA 


53 


‘Yes.’ 

Miss More did not seem inclined to enlarge upon the 
fact, and her face was thoughtful after she had said the 
one word; so was Margaret's tone when she answered: 

‘So do I.' 

Each of the young women understood that the other 
did not care to talk of Mr. Van Torp. Margaret glanced 
sideways at her neighbour and wondered vaguely 
whether the latter's experience had been at all like her 
own, but she could not see anything to make her think 
so. Miss More had a singularly pleasant expression 
and a face that made one trust her at once, but she was 
far from beautiful, and would hardly pass for pretty 
beside such a good-looking woman as Margaret, who 
after all was not what people call an out-and-out beauty. 
It was odd that the quiet lady-like teacher should have 
answered monosyllabically in that tone. She felt 
Margaret’s sidelong look of inquiry, and turned half 
round after glancing at little Ida, who was very busy 
with her crochet. 

‘I'm afraid you may have misunderstood me,' she 
said, smiling. ‘If I did not say any more it is because 
he himself does not wish people to talk of what he 
does.' 

‘I assure you, I'm not curious,' Margaret answered, 
smiling too. ‘I'm sorry if I looked as if I were.' 

‘No — you misunderstood me, and it was a little my 
fault. Mr. Van Torp is doing something very, very 
kind which it was impossible that I should not know of, 
and he has asked me not to tell any one.' 


54 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. Ill 


‘I see/ Margaret answered. ‘Thank you for telling 
me. I am glad to know that he ’ 

She checked herself. She detested and feared the 
man, for reasons of her own, and she found it hard to 
believe that he could do something ‘very, very kind’ 
and yet not wish it to be known. He did not strike her 
as being the kind of person who would go out of his 
way to hide his light under a bushel. Yet Miss More’s 
tone had been quiet and earnest. Perhaps he had 
employed her to teach some poor deaf and dumb child, 
like little Ida. Her words seemed to imply this, for 
she had said that it had been impossible that she should 
not know; that is, he had been forced to ask her advice 
or help, and her help and advice could only be considered 
indispensable where her profession as a teacher of the 
deaf and dumb was concerned. 

Miss More was too discreet to ask the question which 
Margaret s unfinished sentence suggested, but she 
would not let the speech pass quite unanswered. 

‘He is often misjudged/ she said. ‘In business he 
may be what many people say he is. I don’t under- 
stand business! But I have known him to help people 
who needed help badly and who never guessed that he 
even knew their names.’ 

‘You must be right/ Margaret answered. 

She remembered the last words of the girl who had 
died in the manager’s room at the theatre. There had 
been a secret. The secret was that Mr. Van Torp 
had done the thing, whatever it was. She had probably 
not known what she was saying, but it had been on her 


CHAP. Ill 


THE PRIMADONNA 


55 


mind to say that Mr. Van Torp had done it, the man 
she was to have married. Margaret’s first impression 
had been that the thing done must have been something 
very bad, because she herself disliked the man so much; 
but Miss More knew him, and since he often did ‘very, 
very kind things,’ it was possible that the particular 
action of which the dying girl was thinking might have 
been a charitable one; possibly he had confided the 
secret to her. Margaret smiled rather cruelly at her 
own superior knowledge of the world — yes, he had 
told the girl about that ‘ secret ’ charity in order to make 
a good impression on her! Perhaps that was his 
favourite method of interesting women; if it was, he 
had not invented it. Margaret thought she could have 
told Miss More something which would have thrown 
another light on Mr. Van Torp’s character. 

Her reflections had led her' back to the painful scene 
at the theatre, and she remembered the account of it 
the next day, and the fact that the girl’s name had been 
Ida. To change the subject she asked her neighbour an 
idle question. 

‘What is the little girl’s full name?’ she inquired. 

‘Ida Moon,’ answered Miss More. 

‘Moon?’ Margaret turned her head sharply. ‘May 
I ask if she is any relation of the California Senator who 
died last year?’ 

‘She is his daughter,’ said Miss More quietly. 

Margaret laid one hand on the arm of her chair and 
leaned forward a little, so as to see the child better. 

‘Really!’ she exclaimed, rather deliberately, as if she 


56 


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CHAP. Ill 


had chosen that particular word out of a number that 
suggested themselves. ' Really !’ she repeated, still 
more slowly, and then leaned back again and looked at 
the grey waves. 

She remembered the notice of Miss Bamberger’s 
death. It had described the deceased as the only child 
of Hannah Moon by her former marriage with Isidore 
Bamberger. But Hannah Moon, as Margaret happened 
to know, was now the widow of Senator Alvah Moon. 
Therefore the little deaf child was the half-sister of the 
girl who had died at the theatre in Margaret’s arms and 
had been christened by the same name. Therefore, 
also, she was related to Margaret, whose mother had 
been the California magnate’s cousin. 

' How small the world is ! ’ Margaret said in a low voice 
as she looked at the grey waves. 

She wondered whether little Ida had ever heard of 
her half-sister, and what Miss More knew about it all. 

'How old is Mrs. Moon?’ she asked. 

'I fancy she must be forty, or near that. I know 
that she was nearly thirty years younger than the 
Senator, but I never saw her.’ 

'You never saw her?’ Margaret was surprised. 

'No,’ Miss More answered. 'She is insane, you know. 
She went quite mad soon after the little girl was born. 
It was very painful for the Senator. Her delusion was 
that he was her divorced husband, Mr. Bamberger, and 
when the child came into the world she insisted that it 
should be called Ida, and that she had no other. Mr. 
Bamberger’s daughter was Ida, you know. It was very 


CHAP. Ill 


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57 


strange. Mrs. Moon was convinced that she was forced to 
live her life over again, year by year, as an expiation for 
something she had done. The doctors say it is a hope- 
less case. I really think it shortened the Senator’s life.’ 

Margaret did not think that the world had any cause 
to complain of Mrs. Moon on that account. 

‘So this child is quite alone in the world/ she said. 

‘Yes. Her father is dead and her mother is in an 
asylum.’ 

‘Poor little thing!’ 

The two young women were leaning back in their 
chairs, their faces turned towards each other as they 
talked, and Ida was still busy with her crochet. 

‘Luckily she has a sunny nature,’ said Miss More. 
‘She is interested in everything she sees and hears.’ 
She laughed a little. ‘I always speak of it as hearing,’ 
she added, ‘for it is quite as quick, when there is light 
enough. You know that, since you have talked with 
her/ 

‘Yes. But in the dark, how do you make her under- 
stand?’ 

‘She can generally read what I say by laying her 
hand on my lips; but besides that, we have the deaf 
and dumb alphabet, and she can feel my fingers as I 
make the letters.’ 

‘You have been with her a long time, I suppose,’ 
Margaret said. 

‘Since she was three years old.’ 

‘California is a beautiful country, isn’t it?’ asked 
Margaret after a pause. 


58 


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CHAP. Ill 


She put the question idly, for she was thinking how 
hard it must be to teach deaf and dumb children. Miss 
More’s answer surprised her. 

'I h&ve never been there.’ 

‘But, surely, Senator Moon lived in San Francisco,’ 
Margaret said. 

‘Yes. But the child was sent to New England when 
she was three, and never went back again. We have 
been living in the country near Boston.’ 

‘And the Senator used to pay you a visit now and 
then, of course, when he was alive. He must have 
been immensely pleased by the success of your teach- 
ing.’ 

Though Margaret felt that she was growing more 
curious about little Ida than she often was about any 
one, it did not occur to her that the question she now 
suggested, rather than asked, was an indiscreet one, 
and she was surprised by her companion’s silence. She 
had already discovered that Miss More was one of those 
literally truthful people who never let an inaccurate 
statement pass their lips, and who will be obstinately 
silent rather than answer a leading question, quite 
legardless of the fact that silence is sometimes the 
most direct answer that can be given. On the present 
occasion Miss More said nothing and turned her eyes to 
the sea, leaving Margaret to make any deduction she 
pleased; but only one suggested itself, namely, that the 
deceased Senator had taken very little interest in the 
child of his old age, and had felt no affection for her. 
Margaret wondered whether he had left her rich, but 


CHAP. Ill 


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59 


Miss More's silence told her that she had already asked 
too many questions. 

She glanced down the long line of passengers beyond 
Miss More and Ida. Men, women, and children lay 
side by side in their chairs, wrapped and propped like a 
row of stuffed specimens in a museum. They were not 
interesting, Margaret thought; for those who were 
awake all looked discontented, and those who were 
asleep looked either ill or apoplectic. Perhaps half of 
them were crossing because they were obliged to go to 
Europe for one reason or another; the other half were 
going in an aimless way, because they had got into the 
habit while they were young, or had been told that it 
was the right thing to do, or because their doctors sent 
them abroad to get rid of them. The grey light from 
the waves was reflected on the immaculate and shiny 
white paint, and shed a cold glare on the commonplace 
faces and on the plaid rugs, and on the vivid magazines 
which many of the people were reading, or pretending 
to read; for most persons only look at the pictures nowa- 
days, and read the advertisements. A steward in a 
very short jacket was serving perfectly unnecessary cups 
of weak broth on a big tray, and a great number of 
the passengers took some, with a vague idea that the 
Company's feelings might be hurt if they did not, or 
else that they would not be getting their money’s 
worth. 

Between the railing and the feet of the passengers, 
which stuck out over the foot-rests of their chairs to 
different lengths according to the height of the posses- 


60 


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CHAP. Ill 


sors, certain energetic people walked ceaselessly up 
and down the deck, sometimes flattening themselves 
against the railing to let others who met them pass by, 
and sometimes, when the ship rolled a little, stumbling 
against an outstretched foot or two without making 
any elaborate apology for doing so. 

Margaret only glanced at the familiar sight, but she 
made a little movement of annoyance almost directly, 
and took up the book that lay open and face downwards 
on her knee; she became absorbed in it so suddenly as 
to convey the impression that she was not really read- 
ing at all. 

She had seen Mr. Van Torp and Paul Griggs walking 
together and coming towards her. 

The millionaire was shorter than his companion and 
more clumsily made, though not by any means a stout 
man. Though he did not look like a soldier he had 
about him the very combative air which belongs to so 
many modern financiers of the Christian breed. There 
was the bull-dog jaw, the iron mouth, and the aggressive 
blue eye of the man who takes and keeps by force rather 
than by astuteness. Though his face had lines in it 
and his complexion was far from brilliant he looked 
scarcely forty years of age, and his short, rough, sandy 
hair had not yet begun to turn grey. 

He was not ugly, but Margaret had always seen 
something in his face that repelled her. It was some 
lack of proportion somewhere, which she could not 
precisely define; it was something that was out of the 
common type of faces, but that was disquieting rather 


CHAP, in 


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61 


than interesting. Instead of wondering what it meant, 
those who noticed it wished it were not there. 

Margaret was sure she could distinguish his heavy 
step from Griggs’s when he was near her, but she would 
not look up from her book till he stopped and spoke to 
her. 

'Good-morning, Madame Cordova; how are you this 
morning?’ he inquired, holding out his hand. 'You 
didn’t expect to see me on board, did you?’ 

His tone was hard and business-like, but he lifted his 
yachting cap politely as he held out his hand. Mar- 
garet hesitated a moment before taking it, and when she 
moved her own he was already holding his out to Miss 
More. 

'Good-morning, Miss More; how are you this morn- 
ing?’ 

Miss More leaned forward and put down one foot as if 
she would have risen in the presence of the great man, 
but he pushed her back by her hand which he held, and 
proceeded to shake hands with the little girl. 

'Good-morning, Miss Ida; how are you this morning?’ 

Margaret felt sure that if he had shaken hands with 
a hundred people he would have repeated the same 
words to each without any variation. She looked at 
Griggs imploringly, and glanced at his vacant chair on 
her right side. He did not answer by sitting down, 
because the action would have been too like deliberately 
telling Mr. Van Torp to go away, but he began to fold 
up the chair as if he were going to take it away, and then 
he seemed to find that there was something wrong with 


62 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. Ill 


one of its joints, and altogether it gave him a good deal 
of trouble, and made it quite impossible for the great 
man to get any nearer to Margaret. 

Little Ida had taken Mr. Van Torp’s proffered hand, 
and had watched his hard lips when he spoke. She 
answered quite clearly and rather slowly, in the some- 
what monotonous voice of those born deaf who have 
learned to speak. 

‘I’m very well, thank you, Mr. Van Torp. I hope you 
are quite well.’ 

Margaret heard, and saw the child’s face, and at once 
decided that, if the little girl knew of her own relation- 
ship to Ida Bamberger, she was certainly ignorant of 
the fact that her half-sister had been engaged to Mr. 
Van Torp, when she had died so suddenly less than a 
week ago. Little Ida’s manner strengthened the im- 
pression in Margaret’s mind that the millionaire was 
having her educated by Miss More. Yet it seemed 
impossible that the rich old Senator should not have 
left her well provided. 

‘I see you’ve made friends with Madame Cordova,’ 
said Mr. Van Torp. f I’m very glad, for she’s quite an 
old friend of mine too.’ 

Margaret made a slight movement, but said nothing. 
Miss More saw her annoyance and intervened by speak- 
ing to the financier. 

‘We began to fear that we might not see you at all 
on the voyage,’ she said, in a tone of some concern. ‘I 
hope you have not been suffering again.’ 

Margaret wondered whether she meant to ask if he 


CHAP. Ill 


THE PRIMADONNA 


63 


had been sea-sick; what she said sounded like an inquiry 
about some more or less frequent indisposition, though 
Mr. Van Torp looked as strong as a ploughman. 

In answer to the question he glanced sharply at Miss 
More, and shook his head. 

‘I’ve been too busy to come on deck/ he said, rather 
curtly, and he turned to Margaret again. 

‘Will you take a little walk with me, Madame Cor- 
dova?’ he asked. 

Not having any valid excuse for refusing, Margaret 
smiled, for the first time since she had seen him on deck. 

‘I’m so comfortable!’ she answered. ‘Don’t make 
me get out of my rug!’ 

‘If you’ll take a little walk with me, I’ll give you a 
pretty present,’ said Mr. Van Torp playfully. 

Margaret thought it best to laugh and shake her head 
at this singular offer. Little Ida had been watching 
them both. 

‘You’d better go with him,’ said the child gravely. 
‘He makes lovely presents.’ 

‘Does he?’ Margaret laughed again. 

‘“A fortress that parleys, or a woman who listens, is 
lost,”’ put in Griggs, quoting an old French proverb. 

‘Then I won’t listen,’ Margaret said. 

Mr. Van Torp planted himself more firmly on his 
sturdy legs, for the ship was rolling a little. 

‘I’ll give you a book, Madame Cordova,’ he said. 

His habit of constantly repeating the name of the 
person with whom he was talking irritated her extremely. 
She was not smiling when she answered. 


64 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. Ill 


‘ Thank you. I have more books than I can possibly 
read/ 

‘Yes. But you have not the one I will give you, and 
it happens to be the only one you want/ 

‘But I don’t want any book at all! I don’t want to 
read!’ 

‘Yes, you do, Madame Cordova. You want to read 
this one, and it’s the only copy on board, and if you’ll 
take a little walk with me I’ll give it to you/ 

As he spoke he very slowly drew a new book from 
the depths of the wide pocket in his overcoat, but only 
far enough to show Margaret the first words of the title, 
and he kept his aggressive blue eyes fixed on her face. 
A faint blush came into her cheeks at once and he let 
the volume slip back. Griggs, being on his other side, 
had not seen it, and it meant nothing to Miss More. To 
the latter’s surprise Margaret pushed her heavy rug 
from her knees and let her feet slip from the chair to the 
ground. Her eyes met Griggs’s as she rose, and seeing 
that his look asked her whether he was to carry out her 
previous instructions and walk beside her, she shook 
her head. 

‘Nine times out of ten, proverbs are true,’ he said in a 
tone of amusement. 

Mr. Van Torp’s hard face expressed no triumph 
when Margaret stood beside him, ready to walk. She 
had yielded, as he had been sure she would; he turned 
from the other passengers to go round to the weather 
side of the ship, and she went with him submissively. 
Just at the point where the wind and the fine spray 


CHAP. Ill 


THE PRIMADONNA 


65 


would have met them if they had gone on, he stopped 
in the lee of a big ventilator. There was no one in sight 
of them now. 

‘ Excuse me for making you get up/ he said. ‘I 
wanted to see you alone for a moment/ 

Margaret said nothing in answer to this apology, and 
she met his fixed eyes coldly. 

‘You were with Miss Bamberger when she died/ 
he said. 

Margaret bent her head gravely in assent. His face 
was as expressionless as a stone. 

‘I thought she might have mentioned me before she 
died/ he said slowly. 

‘Yes/ Margaret answered after a moment’s pause; 
‘she did.’ 

‘What did she say?’ 

‘She told me that it was a secret, but that I was to 
tell you what she said, if I thought it best. ’ 

‘Are you going to tell me?’ 

It was impossible to guess whether he was controlling 
any emotion or not; but if the men with whom he had 
done business where large sums were involved had seen 
him now and had heard his voice, they would have recog- 
nised the tone and the expression. 

‘She said, “he did it/” Margaret answered slowly, 
after a moment’s thought. 

‘Was that all she said?’ 

‘That was all. A moment later she was dead. Before 
she said it, she told me it was a secret, and she made 
me promise solemnly never to tell any one but you.’ 


66 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. Ill 


‘It’s not much of a secret, is it?’ As he spoke, Mr. 
Van Torp turned his eyes from Margaret’s at last and 
looked at the grey sea beyond the ventilator. 

‘Such as it is, I have told it to you because she wished 
me to/ answered Margaret. ‘But I shall never tell 
any one else. It will be all the easier to be silent, as I 
have not the least idea what she meant.’ 

‘She meant our engagement/ said Mr. Van Torp in a 
matter-of-fact tone. ‘We had broken it off that after- 
noon. She meant that it was I who did it, and so it 
was. Perhaps she did not like to think that when she 
was dead people might call her heartless and say she 
had thrown me over; and no one would ever know the 
truth except me, unless I chose to tell — me and her 
father.’ 

‘Then you were not to be married after all!’ Margaret 
showed her surprise. 

‘No. I had broken it off. We were going to let it 
be known the next day.’ 

‘On the very eve of the wedding!’ 

‘Yes.’ Mr. Van Torp fixed his eyes on Margaret’s 
again. ‘On the very eve of the wedding/ he said, re- 
peating her words. 

He spoke very slowly and without emphasis, but with 
the greatest possible distinctness. Margaret had once 
been taken to see a motor-car manufactory and she 
remembered a machine that clipped bits off the end of 
an iron bar, inch by inch, smoothly and deliberately. 
Mr. Van Torp’s lips made her think of that; they seemed 
to cut the hard words one by one, in lengths. 


CHAP. Ill 


THE PRIMADONNA 


67 


‘Poor girl!’ she sighed, and looked away. 

The man’s face did not change, and if his next words 
echoed the sympathy she expressed his tone did not. 

‘I was a good deal cut up myself,’ he observed coolly. 
‘Here’s your book, Madame Cordova.’ 

‘No,’ Margaret answered with a little burst of indig- 
nation, ‘I don’t want it. I won’t take it from you!’ 

‘What’s the matter now?’ asked Mr. Van Torp with- 
out the least change of manner. ‘It’s your friend Mr. 
Lushington’s latest, you know, and it won’t be out for 
ten days. I thought you would like to see it, so I got 
an advance copy before it was published.’ 

He held the volume out to her, but she would not even 
look at it, nor answer him. 

‘How you hate me! Don’t you, Madame Cordova?’ 

Margaret still said nothing. She was considering 
how she could best get rid of him. If she simply brushed 
past him and went back to her chair on the lee side, he 
would follow her and go on talking to her as if nothing 
had happened ; and she knew that in that case she would 
lose control of herself before Griggs and Miss More. 

‘Oh, well,’ he went on, ‘if you don’t want the book, 
I don’t. I can’t read novels myself, and I daresay it’s 
trash anyhow.’ 

Thereupon, with a quick movement of his arm and 
hand, he sent Mr. Lushington’s latest novel flying over 
the lee rail, fully thirty feet away, and it dropped out 
of sight into the grey waves. He had been a good base- 
ball pitcher in his youth. 

Margaret bit her lip and her eyes flashed. 


68 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. Ill 


‘You are quite the most disgustingly brutal person 
I ever met/ she said, no longer able to keep down her 
anger. 

‘No/ he answered calmly. Tm not brutal; I’m only 
logical. I took a great deal of trouble to get that book 
for you because I thought it would give you pleasure, 
and it wasn’t a particularly legal transaction by which 
I got it either. Since you didn’t want it, I wasn’t 
going to let anybody else have the satisfaction of read- 
ing it before it was published, so I just threw it away 
because it is safer in the sea than knocking about in 
my cabin. If you hadn’t seen me throw it overboard 
you would never have believed that I had. You’re not 
much given to believing me, anyway. I’ve noticed 
that. Are you, now?’ 

‘Oh, it was not the book!’ 

Margaret turned from him and made a step forward 
so that she faced the sharp wind. It cut her face and 
she felt that the little pain was a relief. He came and 
stood beside her with his hands deep in the pockets of 
his overcoat. 

‘If you think I’m a brute on account of what I told 
you about Miss Bamberger/ he said, ‘that’s not quite 
fair. I broke off our engagement because I found out 
that we were going to make each other miserable and 
we should have had to divorce in six months; and if 
half the people who are just going to get married would 
do the same thing there would be a lot more happy 
women in the world, not to say men! That’s all, and 
she knew it, poor girl, and was just as glad as I was 


CHAP. Ill 


THE PRIMADONNA 


69 


when the thing was done. Now what is there so brutal 
in that, Madame Cordova?’ 

Margaret turned on him almost fiercely. 

‘Why do you tell me all this?’ she asked. ‘For 
heaven’s, sake let poor Miss Bamberger rest in her 
grave!’ 

‘Since you ask me why/ answered Mr. Van Torp, 
unmoved, ‘I tell you all this because I want you to know 
more about me than you do. If you did, you’d hate me 
less. That’s the plain truth. You know very well 
that there’s nobody like you, and that if I’d judged I 
had the slightest chance of getting you I would no more 
have thought of marrying Miss Bamberger than of 
throwing a million dollars into the sea after that book, 
or ten million, and that’s a great deal of money.’ 

‘I ought to be flattered,’ said Margaret with scorn, 
still facing the wind. 

‘No. I’m not given to flattery, and money means 
something real to me, because I’ve fought for it, and 
got- it. Your regular young lover will always call you 
his precious treasure, and I don’t see much difference 
between a precious treasure and several million dollars. 
I’m logical, you see. I tell you I’m logical, that’s all.’ 

‘I daresay. I think we have been talking here long 
enough. Shall we go back? ’ 

She had got her anger under again. She detested 
Mr. Van Torp, but she was honest enough to realise 
that for the present she had resented his saying that 
Lushington’s book was probably trash, much more 
than what he had told her of his broken engagement. 


70 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP, ill 


She turned and came back to the ventilator, meaning 
to go around to her chair, but he stopped her. 

' Don’t go yet, please ! 7 he said, keeping beside her. 
'Call me a disgusting brute if you like. I sha'n't mind 
it, and I daresay it’s true in a kind of way. Business 
isn't very refining, you know, and it was the only educa- 
tion I got after I was sixteen. I'm sorry I called that 
book rubbish, for I'm sure it's not. I've met Mr. 
Lushing ton in England several times; he’s very clever, 
and he’s got a first-rate position. But you see I didn’t 
like your refusing the book, after I'd taken so much 
trouble to get it for you. Perhaps if I hadn't thrown 
it overboard you'd take it, now that I've apologised. 
Would you?' 

His tone had changed at last, as she had known it to 
change before in the course of an acquaintance that had 
lasted more than a year. He put the question almost 
humbly. 

'I don’t know,' Margaret answered, relenting a little 
in spite of herself. 'At all events I'm sorry I was so 
rude. I lost my temper.’ 

'It was very natural,' said Mr. Van Torp meekly, but 
not looking at her, 'and I know I deserved it. You 
really would let me give you the book now, if it were 
possible, wouldn't you?' 

'Perhaps.' She thought that as there was no such 
possibility it was safe to say as much as that. 

'I should feel so much better if you would,' he an- 
swered. 'I should feel as if you'd accepted my apology. 
Won't you say it, Madame Cordova?' 


CHAP. Ill 


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71 


‘Well — yes — since you wish it so much/ Margaret 
replied, feeling that she risked nothing. 

‘Here it is, then/ he said, to her amazement, produc- 
ing the new novel from the pocket of his overcoat, and 
enjoying her surprise as he put it into her hand. 

It looked like a trick of sleight of hand, and she took 
the book and stared at him, as a child stares at the 
conjuror who produces an apple out of its ear. 

‘But I saw you throw it away/ she said in a puzzled 
tone. 

‘I got two while I was about it/ said Mr. Van Torp, 
smiling without showing his teeth. ‘It was just as easy 
and it didn’t cost me any more.’ 

‘I see! Thank you very much.’ 

She knew that she could not but keep the volume 
now, and in her heart she was glad to have it, for Lush- 
ington had written to her about it several times since 
she had been in America. 

‘Well, I’ll leave you now/ said the millionaire, re- 
suming his stony expression. ‘I hope I’ve not kept 
you too long.’ 

Before Margaret had realised the idiotic convention- 
ality of the last words her companion had disappeared 
and she was left alone. He had not gone back in the 
direction whence they had come, but had taken the 
deserted windward side of the ship, doubtless with 
the intention of avoiding the crowd. 

Margaret stood still for some time in the lee of the 
ventilator, holding the novel in her hand and thinking. 
She wondered whether Mr. Van Torp had planned the 


72 


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CHAP. Ill 


whole scene, including the sacrifice of the novel. If 
he had not, it was certainly strange that he should have 
had the second copy ready in his pocket. Lushington 
had once told her that great politicians and great 
financiers were always great comedians, and now that 
she remembered the saying it occurred to her that Mr. 
Van Torp reminded her of a certain type of American 
actor, a type that has a heavy jaw and an aggressive 
eye, and strongly resembles the portraits of Daniel 
Webster. Now Daniel Webster had a wide reputation 
as a politician, but there is reason to believe that the 
numerous persons who lent him money and never got 
it back thought him a financier of undoubted ability, if 
not a comedian of talent. There were giants in those 
days. 

The English girl, breathing the clean air of the ocean, 
felt as if something had left a bad taste in her mouth; 
and the famous young singer, who had seen in two 
years what a normal Englishwoman would neither see, 
nor guess at, nor wish to imagine in a lifetime, thought 
she understood tolerably well what the bad taste meant. 
Moreover, Margaret Donne was ashamed of what Mar- 
garita da Cordova knew, and Cordova had moments of 
sharp regret when she thought of the girl who had been 
herself, and had lived under good Mrs. Rushmore's 
protection, like a flower in a glass house. 

She remembered, too, how Lushington and Mrs. 
Rushmore had warned her and entreated her not to 
become an opera-singer. She had taken her future 
into her own hands and had soon found out what it 


CHAP. Ill 


THE PRIMADONNA 


73 


meant to be a celebrity on the stage; and she had seen 
only too clearly where she was classed by the women 
who would have been her companions and friends if 
she had kept out of the profession. l^She had learned 
by experience, too, how little real consideration she 
could expect from men of the world, and how very little 
she could really exact from such people as Mr. Van Torp; 
still less could she expect to get it from persons like 
Schreiermeyer, who looked upon the gifted men and 
women he engaged to sing as so many head of cattle, 
to be driven more or less hard according to their value, 
and to be turned out to starve the moment they were 
broken-winded. That fate is sure to overtake the best 
of them sooner or later. The career of a great opera- 
singer is rarely more than half as long as that of a great 
tragedian, and even when a primadonna or a tenor 
makes a fortune, the decline of their glory is far more 
sudden and sad than that of actors generally is. Lady 
Macbeth is as great a part as Juliet for an actress of 
genius, but there are no ‘old parts’ for singers; the 
soprano dare not turn into a contralto with advancing 
years, nor does the unapproachable Parsifal of eight- 
and-twenty turn into an incomparable Amf ortas at fifty. 
For the actor, it often happens that the first sign of age 
is fatigue; in the singer’s day, the first shadow is an 
eclipse, the first false note is disaster, the first break- 
down is often a heart-rending failure that brings real 
tears to the eyes of younger comrades. The exquisite 
voice does not grow weak and pathetic and ethereal by 
degrees, so that we still love to hear it, even to the end; 


74 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. Ill 


far more often it is suddenly flat or sharp by a quarter 
of a tone throughout whole acts, or it breaks on one 
note in a discordant shriek that is the end. Down goes 
the curtain then, in the middle of the great opera, and 
down goes the great singer for ever into tears and 
silence. Some of us have seen that happen, many have 
heard of it; few can think without real sympathy of 
such mortal suffering and distress. 

Margaret realised all this, without any illusion, but 
there was another side to the question. There was 
success, glorious and far-reaching, and beyond her 
brightest dreams; there was the certainty that she was 
amongst the very first, for the deafening ring of univer- 
sal applause was in her ears; and, above all, there was 
youth. Sometimes it seemed to her that she had almost 
too much, and that some dreadful thing must happen 
to her; yet if there were moments when she faintly 
regretted the calmer, sweeter life she might have led, 
she knew that she would have given that life up, over 
and over again, for the splendid joy of holding thou- 
sands spellbound while she sang. She had the real 
lyric artist’s temperament, for that breathless silence 
of the many while her voice rang out alone, and trilled 
and died away to a delicate musical echo, was more to 
her than the roar of applause that could be heard 
through the walls and closed doors in the street outside. 
To such a moment as that Faustus himself would have 
cried ‘Stay!’ though the price of satisfied desire were 
his soul. And there had been many such moments in 
Cordova’s life. They satisfied something much deeper 


CHAP, m 


THE PRIMADONNA 


75 


than greedy vanity and stronger than hungry ambition. 
Call it what you will, according to the worth you set on 
such art, it is a longing which only artists feel, and to 
which only something in themselves can answer. To 
listen to perfect music is a feast for gods, but to be the 
living instrument beyond compare is to be a god oneself. 
Of our five senses, sight calls up visions, divine as well 
as earthly, but hearing alone can link body, mind, and 
soul with higher things, by the word and by the word 
made song. The mere memory of hearing when it is 
lost is still enough for the ends of genius; for the poet 
and the composer touch the blind most deeply, perhaps, 
when other senses do not count at all; but a painter who 
loses his sight is as helpless in the world of art as a dis- 
masted ship in the middle of the ocean. 

Some of these thoughts passed through Margaret’s 
brain as she stood beside the ventilator with her friend’s 
new book in her hand, and, although her reflections 
were not new to her, it was the first time she clearly 
understood that her life had made two natures out of 
her original self, and that the two did not always agree. 
She felt that she was not halved by the process, but 
doubled. She was two women instead of one, and each 
woman was complete in herself. She had not found this 
out by any elaborate self-study, for healthy people 
do not study themselves. She simply felt it, and she 
was sure it was true, because she knew that each of her 
two selves was able to do, suffer, and enjoy as much 
as any one woman could. The one might like what 
the other disliked and feared, but the contradiction 


76 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. Ill 


was open and natural, not secret or morbid. The two 
women were called respectively Madame Cordova and 
Miss Donne. Miss Donne thought Madame Cordova 
very showy, and much too tolerant of vulgar things and 
people, if not a little touched with vulgarity herself. 
On the other hand, the brilliantly successful Cordova 
thought Margaret Donne a good girl, but rather silly. 
Miss Donne was very fond of Edmund Lushington, the 
writer, but the Primadonna had a distinct weakness for 
Constantine Logotheti, the Greek financier who lived 
in Paris, and who wore too many rubies and diamonds. 

On two points, at least, the singer and the modest 
English girl agreed, for they both detested Rufus Van 
Torp, and each had positive proof that he was in love 
with her, if what he felt deserved the name. 

For in very different ways she was really loved by 
Lushington and by Logotheti; and since she had been 
famous she had made the acquaintance of a good many 
very high and imposing personages, whose names are 
to be found in the first and second part of the Almanack 
de Gotha , in the Olympian circle of the reigning or the 
supernal regions of the Serene Mediatized, far above 
the common herd of dukes and princes; they had offered 
her a share in the overflowing abundance of their ad- 
mirative protection; and then had seemed surprised, if 
not deeply moved, by the independence she showed in 
declining their intimacy. Some of them were frankly 
and contentedly cynical; some were of a brutality com- 
pared with which the tastes and manners of a bargee 
would have seemed ladylike; some were as refined and 


CHAP, in 


THE PRIMADONNA 


77 


sensitive as English old maids, though less scrupulous 
and much less shy; the one was as generous as an Irish 
sailor, the next was as mean as a Normandy peasant; 
some had offered her rivers of rubies, and some had 
proposed to take her incognito for a drive in a cab, be- 
cause it would be so amusing — and so inexpensive. 
Yet in their families and varieties they were all of the 
same species, all human and all subject to the ordinary 
laws of attraction and repulsion. Rufus Van Torp was 
not like them. 

Neither of Margaret’s selves could look upon him as 
a normal human being. At first sight there was nothing 
so very unusual in his face, certainly nothing that sug- 
gested a monster; and yet, whatever mood she chanced 
to be in, she could not be with him five minutes without 
being aware of something undefinable that always 
disturbed her profoundly, and sometimes became posi- 
tively terrifying. She always felt the sensation coming 
upon her after a few moments, and when it had actually 
come she could hardly hide her repulsion till she felt, 
as to-day, that she must run from him, without the least 
consideration of pride or dignity. She might have fled 
like that before a fire or a flood, or from the scene of 
an earthquake, and more than once nothing had kept 
her in her place but her strong will and healthy 
nerves. She knew that it was like the panic that 
seizes people in the presence of an appalling disturb- 
ance of nature. 

Doubtless, when she had talked with Mr. Van Torp 
just now, she had been disgusted by the indifferent way 


78 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. in 


in which he spoke of poor Miss Bamberger’s sudden 
death; it was still more certain that what he said about 
the book, and his very ungentlemanly behaviour in 
throwing it into the sea, had roused her justifiable anger. 
But she would have smiled at the thought that an 
exhibition of heartlessness, or the most utter lack of 
manners, could have made her wish to run away from 
any other man. Her life had accustomed her to people 
who had no more feeling than Schreiermeyer, and no 
better manners than Pompeo Stromboli. Van Torp 
might have been on his very best behaviour that morn- 
ing, or at any of her previous chance meetings with him; 
sooner or later she would have felt that same absurd 
and unreasoning fear of him, and would have found it 
very hard not to turn and make her escape. His face 
was so stony and his eyes were so aggressive; he was 
always like something dreadful that was just going to 
happen. 

Yet Margarita da Cordova was a brave woman, and 
had lately been called a heroine because she had gone 
on singing after that explosion till the people were quiet 
again; and Margaret Donne was a sensible girl, justly 
confident of being able to take care of herself where 
men were concerned. She stood still and wondered 
what there was about Mr. Van Torp that could frighten 
her so dreadfully. 

After a little while she went quietly back to her 
chair, and sat down between Griggs and Miss More. 
The elderly man rose and packed her neatly in her plaid, 
and she thanked him. Miss More looked at her and 


CHAP. Ill 


THE PRIMADONNA 


79 


smiled vaguely, as even the most intelligent people do 
sometimes. Then Griggs got into his own chair again 
and took up his book. 

‘Was that right of me?’ he asked presently, so low 
that Miss More did not hear him speak. 

‘Yes/ Margaret answered, under her breath, ‘but 
don’t let me do it again, please.’ 

They both began to read, but after a time Margaret 
spoke to him again without turning her eyes. 

‘ He wanted to ask me about that girl who died at the 
theatre,’ she said, just audibly. 

‘Oh — yes!’ 

Griggs seemed so vague that Margaret glanced at 
him. He was looking at the inside of his right hand in 
a meditative way, as if it recalled something. If he 
had shown more interest in what she said she would 
have told him what she had just learned, about the 
breaking off of the engagement, but he was evidently 
absorbed in thought, while he slowly rubbed that par- 
ticular spot on his hand, and looked at it again and again 
as if it recalled something. 

Margaret did not resent his indifference, for he was 
much more than old enough to be her father; he was a 
man whom all younger writers looked upon as a veteran, 
he had always been most kind and courteous to her 
when she had met him, and she freely conceded him 
the right to be occupied with his own thoughts and not 
with hers. With him she was always Margaret Donne, 
and he seldom talked to her about music, or of her 
own work. Indeed, he so rarely mentioned music that 


80 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. Ill 


she fancied he did not really care for it, and she won- 
dered why he was so often in the house when she 
sang. 

Mr. Van Torp did not show himself at luncheon, and 
Margaret began to hope that he would not appear on 
deck again till the next day. In the afternoon the 
wind dropped, the clouds broke, and the sun shone 
brightly. Little Ida, who was tired of doing crochet 
work, and had looked at all the books that had pictures, 
came and begged Margaret to walk round the ship with 
her. It would please her small child’s vanity to show 
everybody that the great singer was willing to be seen 
walking up and down with her, although she was quite 
deaf, and could not hope ever to hear music. It was her 
greatest delight to be treated before every one as if she 
were just like other girls, and her cleverness in watching 
the lips of the person with her, without seeming too 
intent, was wonderful. 

They went the whole length of the promenade deck, 
as if they were reviewing the passengers, bundled and 
packed in their chairs, and the passengers looked at 
them both with so much interest that the child made 
Margaret come all the way back again. 

‘The sea has a voice, too, hasn’t it?’ Ida asked, as 
they paused and looked over the rail. 

She glanced up quickly for the answer, but Margaret 
did not find one at once. 

‘Because I’ve read poetry about the voices of the 
sea/ Ida explained. ‘And in books they talk of the 
music of the waves, and then they say the sea roars, 


CHAP. Ill 


THE PRIMADONNA 


81 


and thunders in a storm. I can hear thunder, you 
know. Did you know that I could hear thunder ?’ 

Margaret smiled and looked interested. 

'It bangs in the back of my head/ said the child 
gravely. 'But I should like to hear the sea thunder. 
I often watch the waves on the beach, as if they were 
lips moving, and I try to understand what they say. 
Of course, it’s play, because one can’t, can one? But I 
can only make out "Boom, ta-ta-ta-ta,” getting quicker 
and weaker to the end, you know, as the ripples run up 
the sand.’ 

'It’s very like what I hear/ Margaret answered. 

'Is it really?’ Little Ida was delighted. 'Perhaps 
it’s a language after all, and I shall make it out some 
day. You see, until I know the language people are 
speaking, their lips look as if they were talking nonsense. 
But I’m sure the sea could not really talk nonsense all 
day for thousands of years.’ 

'No, I’m sure it couldn’t!’ Margaret was amused. 
'But the sea is not alive/ she added. 

'Everything that moves is alive/ the child said, 'and 
everything that is alive can make a noise, and the noise 
must mean something. If it didn’t, it would be of no 
use, and everything is of some use. So there ! ’ 

Delighted with her own argument, the beautiful child 
laughed and showed her even teeth in the sun. 

They were standing at the end of the promenade 
deck, which extended twenty feet abaft the smoking- 
room, and took the whole beam; above the latter, as 
in most modern ships, there was the boat deck, to the 

G 


82 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. Ill 


after-part of which passengers had access. Standing 
below, it was easy to see and talk with any one who 
looked over the upper rail. 

Ida threw her head back and looked up as she laughed, 
and Margaret laughed good-naturedly with her, think- 
ing how pretty she was. But suddenly the child’s 
expression changed, her face grew grave, and her eyes 
fixed themselves intently on some point above. Mar- 
garet looked in the same direction, and saw that Mr. 
Van Torp was standing alone up there, leaning against 
the railing and evidently not seeing her, for he gazed 
fixedly into the distance; and as he stood there, his lips 
moved as if he were talking to himself. 

Margaret gave a little start of surprise when she saw 
him, but the child watched him steadily, and a look of 
fear stole over her face. Suddenly she grasped Mar- 
garet’s arm. 

‘Come away! Come away ! 7 she cried in a low tone 
of terror. 


CHAPTER IV 


Margaret was sorry to say good-bye to Miss More and 
little Ida when the voyage was over, three days later. 
She was instinctively fond of children, as all healthy 
women are, and she saw very few of them in her wander- 
ing life. It is true that she did not understand them 
very well, for she had been an only child, brought up 
much alone, and children’s ways are only to be learnt 
and understood by experience, since all children are 
experimentalists in life, and what often seems to us 
foolishness in them is practical wisdom of the explorative 
kind. 

When Ida had pulled Margaret away from the railing 
after watching Mr. Van Torp while he was talking to 
himself, the singer had thought very little of it; and 
Ida never mentioned it afterwards. As for the million- 
aire, he was hardly seen again, and he made no attempt 
to persuade Margaret to take another walk with him on 
deck. 

1 Perhaps you would like to see my place,’ he said, as 
he bade her good-bye on the tender at Liverpool. 'It 
used to be called Oxley Paddox, but I didn’t like that, 
so I changed the name to Torp Towers. I’m Mr. Van 
Torp of Torp Towers. Sounds well, don’t it?’ 

'Yes,’ Margaret answered, biting her lip, for she 
83 


84 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. IV 


wanted to laugh. ‘It has a very lordly sound. If you 
bought a moor and a river in Scotland, you might call 
yourself the M’ Torp of Glen Torp, in the same way.’ 

‘I see you’re laughing at me/ said the millionaire, 
with a quiet smile of a man either above or beyond 
ridicule. ‘But it’s all a game in a toy-shop anyway, 
this having a place in Europe. I buy a doll to play 
with when I have time, and I can call it what I please, 
and smash its head when I’m tired of it. It’s my doll. 
It isn’t any one’s else’s. The Towers is in Derbyshire 
if you want to come.’ 

Margaret did not ‘want to come’ to Torp Towers, 
even if the doll wasn’t ‘any one’s else’s.’ She was sorry 
for any person or thing that had the misfortune to be 
Mr. Van Torp’s doll, and she felt her inexplicable fear 
of him coming upon her while he was speaking. She 
broke off the conversation by saying good-bye rather 
abruptly. 

‘Then you won’t come,’ he said, in a tone of amuse- 
ment. 

‘Really, you are very kind, but I have so many 
engagements.’ 

‘ Saturday to Monday in the season wouldn’t interfere 
with your engagements. However, do as you like.’ 

‘Thank you very much. Good-bye again.’ 

She escaped, and he looked after her, with an unsatis- 
fied expression that was almost wistful, and that would 
certainly not have been in his face if she could have 
seen it. 

Griggs was beside her when she went ashore. 


CHAP. IV 


THE PRIMADONNA 


85 


‘I had not much to do after all/ he said, glancing at 
Van Torp. 

‘No/ Margaret answered, ‘but please don’t think it 
was all imagination. I may tell you some day. No/ 
she said again, after a short pause, ‘he did not make 
himself a nuisance, except that once, and now he has 
asked me to his place in Derbyshire.’ 

‘Torp Towers/ Griggs observed, with a smile. 

‘Yes. I could hardly help laughing when he told me 
he had changed its name.’ 

‘It’s worth seeing/ said Griggs. ‘A big old house, all 
full of other people’s ghosts.’ 

‘Ghosts?’ 

‘I mean figuratively. It’s full of things that remind 
one of the people who lived there. It has one of the 
oldest parks in England. Lots of pheasants, too — 
but that cannot last long.’ 

‘Why not?’ 

‘He won’t let any one shoot them! They will all die 
of overcrowding in two or three years. His keepers 
are three men from the Society for the Prevention of 
Cruelty to Animals.’ /fypn&. \ 

‘What a mad idea!’ Margaret laughed. ‘Is he a 
Buddhist?’ 

‘No.’ Paul Griggs knew something about Buddhism. 
‘Certainly not! He’s eccentric. That’s all.’ 

They were at the pier. Half-an-hour later they were 
in the train together, and there was no one else in the 
carriage. Miss More and little Ida had disappeared 
directly after landing, but Margaret had seen Mr. Van 


86 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. IV 


Torp get into a carriage on the window of which was 
pasted the label of the rich and great: ‘Reserved.’ She 
could have had the same privilege if she had chosen to 
ask for it or pay for it, but it irritated her that he should 
treat himself like a superior being. Everything he did 
either irritated her or frightened her, and she found 
herself constantly thinking of him and wishing that he 
would get out at the first station. Griggs was silent 
too, and Margaret thought he really might have taken 
some trouble to amuse her. 

She had Lushington’s book on her knee, for she had 
found it less interesting than she had expected, and 
was rather ashamed of not having finished it before 
meeting him, since it had been given to her. She 
thought he might come down as far as Rugby to meet 
her, and she was quite willing that he should find her 
with it in her hand. A literary man is always supposed 
to be flattered at finding a friend reading his last pro- 
duction, as if he did not know that the friend has prob- 
ably grabbed the volume with undignified haste the 
instant he was on the horizon, with the intention of 
being discovered deep in it. Yet such little friendly 
frauds are sweet compared with the extremes of brutal 
frankness to which our dearest friends sometimes think 
it their duty to go with us, for our own good. 

After a time Griggs spoke to her, and she was glad 
to hear his voice. She had grown to like him during 
the voj^age, even more than she had ever thought 
probable. She had even gone so far as to wonder 
whether, if he had been twenty-five years younger, he 


CHAP. IV 


THE PRIMADONNA 


87 


might not have been the one man she had ever met 
whom she might care to marry, and she had laughed at 
the involved terms of the hypo thesis as soon as she 
thought of it. Griggs had never been married, but 
elderly people remembered that there had been some 
romantic tale about his youth, when he had been an 
unknown young writer struggling for life as a newspaper 
correspondent. 

‘You saw the notice of Miss Bamberger’s death, I 
suppose/ he said, turning his grey eyes to hers. 

He had not alluded to the subject during the voyage. 

‘Yes/ Margaret answered, wondering why he broached 
it now. 

‘The notice said that she died of heart failure, from 
shock/ Griggs continued. ‘I should like to know what 
you think about it, as you were with her when she died. 
Have you any idea that she may have died of anything 
else?’ 

‘No.’ Margaret was surprised. ‘The doctor said it 
was that.’ 

‘I know. I only wanted to have your own impression. 
I believe that when people die of heart failure in that 
way, they often make desperate efforts to explain what 
has happened, and go on trying to talk when they can 
only make inarticulate sounds. Do you remember if 
it was at all like that?’ 

‘Not at all/ Margaret said. ‘She whispered the last 
words she spoke, but they were quite distinct. Then she 
drew three or four deep breaths, and all at once I saw that 
she was dead, and X called the doctor from the next room/ 


88 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. IV 


‘I suppose that might be heart failure/ said Griggs 
thoughtfully. ‘You are quite sure that you thought it 
was only that, are you not?' 

‘Only what?' Margaret asked with growing sur- 
prise. 

‘Only fright, or the result of having been half-suffo- 
cated in the crowd.’ 

‘Yes, I think I am sure. What do you mean? Why 
do you insist so much?’ 

‘It’s of no use to tell other people,’ said Griggs, ‘but 
you may just as well know. I found her lying in a 
heap behind a door, where there could not have been 
much of a crowd.’ 

‘Perhaps she had taken refuge there, to save herself/ 
Margaret suggested. 

‘Possibly. But there was another thing. When I 
got home I found that there was a little blood on the 
palm of my hand. It was the hand I had put under 
her waist when I lifted her.’ 

‘Do you mean to say you think she was wounded?’ 
Margaret asked, opening her eyes wide. 

‘There. was blood on the inside of my hand/ Griggs 
answered, ‘and I had no scratch to account for it. I 
know quite well that it was on the hand that I put 
under her waist — a little above the waist, just in the 
middle of her back.’ 

‘But it would have been seen afterwards.’ 

‘On the dark red silk she wore? Not if there was 
very little of it. The doctor never thought of looking 
for such a wound. Why should he? He had not the 


CHAP. IV 


THE PRIMADONNA 


89 


slightest reason for suspecting that the poor girl had 
been murdered/ 

‘ Murdered? ’ 

Margaret looked hard at Griggs, and then she suddenly 
shuddered from head to foot. She had never before 
had such a sensation; it was like a shock from an electric 
current at the instant when the contact is made, not 
strong enough to hurt, but yet very disagreeable. She 
felt it at the moment when her mind connected what 
Griggs was saying with the dying girl’s last words, ‘he 
did it’; and with little Ida’s look of horror when she 
had watched Mr. Van Torp’s lips while he was talking 
to himself on the boat-deck of the Leofric; and again, 
with the physical fear of the man that always came 
over her when she had been near him for a little while. 
When she spoke to Griggs again the tone of her voice 
had changed. 

‘Please tell me how it could have been done/ she 
said. 

‘Easily enough. A steel bodkin six or seven inches 
long, or even a strong hat-pin. It would be only a 
question of strength.’ 

Margaret remembered Mr. Van Torp’s coarse hands, 
and shuddered again. 

‘How awful!’ she exclaimed. 

‘One would bleed to death internally before long,’ 
Griggs said. 

‘Are you sure?’ 

‘Yes. That is the reason why the three-cornered 
blade for duelling swords was introduced in France 


90 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. IV 


thirty years ago. Before tliat ; men often fought with 
ordinary foils filed to a point, and there were many 
deaths from internal hemorrhage/ 

'What odd things you always know! That would 
be just like being run through with a bodkin, then?' 

'Very much the same/ 

'But it would have been found out afterwards/ 
Margaret said, 'and the papers would have been full 
of it/ 

'That does not follow/ Griggs answered. 'The girl 
was an only child, and her mother had been divorced 
and married again. She lived alone with her father, 
and he probably was told the truth. But Isidore 
Bamberger is not the man to spread out his troubles 
before the public in the newspapers. On the contrary, 
if he found out that his daughter had been killed — 
supposing that she was — he probably made up his 
mind at once that the world should not know it till he 
had caught the murderer. So he sent for the best 
detective in America, put the matter in his hands, and 
inserted a notice of his daughter's death that agreed 
with what the doctor had said. That would be the 
detective's advice, I'm sure, and probably Van Torp 
approved of it.' 

'Mr. Van Torp? Do you think he was told about it? 
Why?' 

'First, because Bamberger is Van Torp’s banker, 
broker, figure-head, and general representative on earth/ 
answered Griggs. 'Secondly, because Van Torp was 
engaged to marry the girl.' 


CHAP. IV 


THE PRIMADONNA 


91 


'The engagement was broken off/ Margaret said. 

'How do you know that?’ asked Griggs quickly. 

'Mr. Van Torp told me, on the steamer. They had 
broken it off that very day, and were going to let it be 
known the next morning. He told me so, that afternoon 
when I walked with him.’ 

'Really!’ 

Griggs was a little surprised, but as he did not connect 
Van Torp with the possibility that Miss Bamberger 
had been murdered, his thoughts did not dwell on the 
broken engagement. 

'Why don’t you try to find out the truth?’ Margaret 
asked rather anxiously. 'You know so many people 
everywhere — you have so much experience.’ 

'I never had much taste for detective work,’ answered 
the literary man, 'and besides, this is none of my busi- 
ness. But Bamberger and Van Torp are probably both 
of them aware by this time that I found the girl and 
carried her to the manager’s room, and when they are 
ready to ask me what I know, or what I remember, the 
detective they are employing will suddenly appear to 
me in the shape of a new acquaintance in some out-of- 
the-way place, who will go to work scientifically to 
make me talk to him. He will very likely have a little 
theory of his own, to the effect that since it was I who 
brought Miss Bamberger to Schreiermeyer’s room, it 
was probably I who killed her, for some mysterious 
reason ! ’ 

'Shall you tell him about the drop of blood on your 
hand?’ 


92 


THE PHIMADONNA 


chap. IV 


' Without the slightest hesitation. But not until I am 
asked, and I shall be very glad if you will not speak of it.’ 

'I won’t/ Margaret said; 'but I wonder why you have 
told me if you mean to keep it a secret!’ 

The veteran man of letters turned his sad grey eyes 
to hers, while his lips smiled. 

'The world is not all bad,’ he said. 'All men are 
not liars, and all women do not betray confidence.’ 

'It’s very good to hear a man like you say that,’ 
Margaret answered. 'It means something.’ 

'Yes,’ assented Griggs thoughtfully. 'It means a 
great deal to me to be sure of it, now that most of my 
life is lived.’ 

'Were you unhappy when you were young?’ 

She asked the question as a woman sometimes does 
who feels herself strongly drawn to a man much older 
than she. Griggs did not answer at once}' and when 
he spoke his voice was unusually grave, and his eyes 
looked far away. 

'A great misfortune happened to me,’ he said. 'A 
great misfortune,’ he repeated slowly, after a pause, 
and his tone and look told Margaret how great that 
calamity had been better than a score of big words. 

'Forgive me,’ Margaret said softly; 'I should have 
known.’ 

'No/ Griggs answered after a moment. 'You could 
not have known. It happened very long ago, perhaps 
ten years before you were born.’ 

Again he turned his sad grey eyes to hers, but no 
smile lingered now about the rather stern mouth. The 


CHAP. IV 


THE PRIMADONNA 


93 


two looked at each other quietly for five or six seconds, 
and that may seem a long time. When Margaret turned 
away from the elderly man’s more enduring gaze, both 
felt that there was a bond of sympathy between them 
which neither had quite acknowledged till then. There 
was silence after that, and Margaret looked out of the 
window, while her hand unconsciously played with the 
book on her knee, lifting the cover a little and letting it 
fall again and again. 

Suddenly she turned to Griggs once more and held 
the book out to him with a smile. 

‘I’m not an autograph-hunter,’ she said, ‘but will you 
write something on the fly-leaf? Just a word or two, 
without your name, if you like. Do you think I’m 
very sentimental?’ 

She smiled again, and he took the book from her and 
produced a pencil. 

‘It’s a book I shall not throw away,’ she went on, 
‘because the man who wrote it is a great friend of mine, 
and I have everything he has ever written. So, as I 
shall keep it, I want it to remind me that you and I 
grew to know each other better on this voyage.’ 

It occurred to the veteran that while this was com- 
plimentary to himself it was not altogether promising 
for Lushington, who was the old friend in question. A 
woman who loves a man does not usually ask another 
to write a line in that man’s book. Griggs set the point 
of the pencil on the fly-leaf as if he were going to write; 
but then he hesitated, looked up, glanced at Margaret, 
and at last leaned back in the seat, as if in deep thought. 


94 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. IV 


‘I didn’t mean to give you so much trouble/ Margaret 
said, still smiling. 'I thought it must be so easy for a 
famous author like you to write half-a-dozen words!’ 

‘A “sentiment” you mean!’ Griggs laughed rather 
contemptuously, and then was grave again. 

‘No!’ Margaret said, a little disappointed. ‘You did 
not understand me. Don’t write anything at all. Give 
me back the book.’ 

She held out her hand for it; but as if he had just 
made up his mind, he put his pencil to the paper again, 
and wrote four words in a small clear hand. She leaned 
forwards a little to see what he was writing. 

‘You know enough Latin to read that,’ he said, as 
he gave the book back to her. 

She read the words aloud, with a puzzled expression. 

‘ “ Credo in resurrectionem mortuorum.” ’ She looked 
at him for some explanation. 

‘Yes,’ he said, answering her unspoken question. 
‘“I believe in the resurrection of the dead.”’ 

‘It means something especial to you — is that it?’ 

‘Yes.’ His eyes were very sad again as they met 
hers. 

‘My voice?’ she asked. ‘Some one — who sang like 
me? Who died?’ 

‘Long before you were born,’ he answered gently. 

There was another little pause before she spoke again, 
for she was touched. 

‘Thank you/ she said. ‘Thank you for writing that.’ 


CHAPTER V 


Mr. Van Torp arrived in London alone, with one small 
valise, for he had sent his man with his luggage to the 
place in Derbyshire. At Euston a porter got him a 
hansom, and he bargained with the cabman to take 
him and his valise to the Temple for eighteenpence, a 
sum which, he explained, allowed sixpence for the 
valise, as the distance could not by any means be made 
out to be more than two miles. 

Such close economy was to be expected from a mil- 
lionaire, travelling incognito; what was more surprising 
was that, when the cab stopped before a door in Hare 
Court and Mr. Van Torp received his valise from the 
roof of the vehicle, he gave the man half-a-crown, and 
said it was ‘all right/ 

‘Now, my man/ he observed, ‘you’ve not only got 
an extra shilling, to which you had no claim whatever, 
but you’ve had the pleasure of a surprise which you 
could not have bought for that money.’ 

The cabman grinned as he touched his hat and drove 
away, and Mr. Van Torp took his valise in one hand 
and his umbrella in the other and went up the dark 
stairs. He went up four flights without stopping to 
take breath, and without so much as glancing at any 
of the names painted in white letters on the small black 
95 


96 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. V 


boards beside the doors on the right and left of each 
landing. 

The fourth floor was the last, and though the name 
on the left had evidently been there a number of years, 
for the white lettering was of the tint of a yellow fog, 
it was still quite clear and legible. 

Mr. I. Bamberger. 

That was the name, but the millionaire did not look 
at it any more than he had looked at the others lower 
down. He knew them all by heart. He dropped his 
valise, took a small key from his pocket, opened the 
door, picked up his valise again, and, as neither hand 
was free, he shut the door with his heel as he passed 
in, and it slammed behind him, sending dismal echoes 
down the empty staircase. 

The entry was almost quite dark, for it was past six 
o’clock in the afternoon, late in March, and the sky was 
overcast; but there was still light enough to see in the 
large room on the left into which Mr. Van Torp carried 
his things. 

It was a dingy place, poorly furnished, but some one 
had dusted the table, the mantelpiece, and the small 
bookcase, and the fire was laid in the grate, while a 
bright copper kettle stood on a movable hob. Mr. Van 
Torp struck a match and lighted the kindling before he 
took off his overcoat, and in a few minutes a cheerful 
blaze dispelled the gathering gloom. He went to a 
small old-fashioned cupboard in a corner and brought 
from it a chipped cup and saucer, a brown teapot, and a 
cheap japanned tea-caddy, all of which he set on the 


CHAP. V 


THE PRIMADONNA 


97 


table ; and as soon as the fire burned brightly, he pushed 
the movable hob round with his foot till the kettle was 
over the flame of the coals. Then he took off his over- 
coat and sat down in the shabby easy-chair by the 
hearth, to wait till the water boiled. 

His proceedings, his manner, and his expression 
would have surprised the people who had been his 
fellow-passengers on the Leofric, and who imagined 
Mr. Van Torp driving to an Olympian mansion, some- 
where between Constitution Hill and Sloane Square, to 
be received at his own door by gravely obsequious 
footmen in plush, and to drink Imperial Chinese tea 
from cups of Old Saxe, or Bleu du Roi, or Capo di Monte. 

Paul Griggs, having tea and a pipe in a quiet little 
hotel in Clarges Street, would have been much surprised 
if he could have seen Rufus Van Torp lighting a fire for 
himself in that dingy room in Hare Court. Madame 
Margarita da Cordova, waiting for an expected visitor 
in her own sitting-room, in her own pretty house in 
Norfolk Crescent, would have been very much surprised 
indeed. The sight would have plunged her into even 
greater uncertainty as to the man’s real character, and 
it is not unlikely that she would have taken his mys- 
terious retreat to be another link in the chain of evidence 
against him which already seemed so convincing. She 
might naturally have wondered, too, what he had felt 
when he had seen that board beside the door, and she 
could hardly have believed that he had gone in without 
so much as glancing at the yellowish letters that formed 
the name of Bamberger. 


98 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. V 


But he seemed quite at home where he was, and not 
at all uncomfortable as he sat before the fire, watching 
the spout of the kettle, his elbows on the arms of the 
easy-chair and his hands raised before him, with the 
finger-tips pressed against each other, in the attitude 
which, with most men, means that they are considering 
the two sides of a question that is interesting without 
being very important. 

Perhaps a thoughtful observer would have noticed at 
once that there had been no letters waiting for him 
when he had arrived, and would have inferred either 
that he did not mean to stay at the rooms twenty-four 
hours, or that, if he did, he had not chosen to let any 
one know where he was. 

Presently it occurred to him that there was no longer 
any fight in the room except from the fire, and he rose 
and fit the gas. The incandescent fight sent a raw 
glare into the farthest corners of the large room, and 
just then a tiny wreath of white steam issued from the 
spout of the kettle. This did not escape Mr. Van Torp’s 
watchful eye, but instead of making tea at once he looked 
at his watch, after which he crossed the room to the 
window and stood thoughtfully gazing through the 
panes at the fast disappearing outlines of the roofs and 
chimney-pots which made up the view when there was 
daylight outside. He did not pull down the shade 
before he turned back to the fire, perhaps because no 
one could possibly look in. 

But he poured a little hot water into the teapot, to 
scald it, and went to the cupboard and got another cup 


CHAP. V 


THE PRIMADONNA 


99 


and saucer, and an old tobacco-tin of which the dingy 
label was half torn off, and which betrayed by a rattling 
noise that it contained lumps of sugar. The imaginary 
thoughtful observer already mentioned would have in- 
ferred from all this that Mr. Van Torp had resolved to 
put off making* tea until some one came to share it 
with him, and that the some one might take sugar, 
though he himself did not; and further, as it was ex- 
tremely improbable, on the face of it, that an afternoon 
visitor should look in by a mere chance, in the hope of 
finding some one in Mr. Isidore Bamberger’s usually 
deserted rooms, on the fourth floor of a dark building 
in Hare Court, the observer would suppose that Mr. 
Van Torp was expecting some one to come and see him 
just at that hour, though he had only landed in Liver- 
pool that day, and would have been still at sea if the 
weather had been rough or foggy. 

All this might have still further interested Paul 
Griggs, and would certainly have seemed suspicious to 
Margaret, if she could have known about it. 

Five minutes passed, and ten, and the kettle was 
boiling furiously, and sending out a long jet of steam 
over the not very shapely toes of Mr. Van Torp’s boots, 
as he leaned back with his feet on the fender. He 
looked at his watch again and apparently gave up the 
idea of waiting any longer, for he rose and poured out 
the hot water from the teapot into one of the cups, as a 
preparatory measure, and took off the lid to put in the 
tea. But just as he had opened the caddy, he paused 
and listened. The door of the room leading to the entry 


100 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. V 


was ajar, and as he stood by the table he had heard 
footsteps on the stairs, still far down, but mounting 
steadily. 

He went to the outer door and listened. There was 
no doubt that somebody was coming up; any one not 
deaf could have heard the sound. It was more strange 
that Mr. Van Torp should recognise the step, for the 
rooms on the other side of the landing were occupied, 
and a stranger would have thought it quite possible that 
the person who was coming up should be going there. 
But Mr. Van Torp evidently knew better, for he opened 
his door noiselessly and stood waiting to receive the 
visitor. The staircase below was dimly lighted by gas, 
but there was none at the upper landing, and in a few 
seconds a dark form appeared, casting a tall shadow 
upwards against the dingy white paint of the wall. 
The figure mounted steadily and came directly to the 
open door — a lady in a long black cloak that quite 
hid her dress. She wore no hat, but her head was 
altogether covered by one of those things which are 
neither hoods nor mantillas nor veils, but which serve 
women for any of the three, according to weather and 
circumstances. The peculiarity of the one the lady wore 
was that it cast a deep shadow over her face. 

‘Come in/ said Mr. Van Torp, withdrawing into the 
entry to make way. 

She entered and went on directly to the sitting-room, 
while he shut the outer door. Then he followed her, 
and shut the second door behind him. She was stand- 
ing before the fire spreading her gloved hands to the 


CHAP. V 


THE PRIMADONNA 


101 


blaze, as if she were cold. The gloves were white, and 
they fitted very perfectly. As he came near, she turned 
and held out one hand. 

‘All right?’ he inquired, shaking it heartily, as if it 
had been a man’s. 

A sweet low voice answered him. 

‘Yes — all right,’ it said, as if nothing could ever be 
wrong with its possessor. ‘But you?’ it asked directly 
afterwards, in a tone of sympathetic anxiety. 

‘I? Oh — well ’ Mr. Van Torp’s incomplete 

answer might have meant anything, except that he too 
was ‘all right.’ 

‘Yes,’ said the lady gravely. ‘I read the telegram 
the next day. Did you get my cable? I did not think 
you would sail.’ 

‘Yes, I got your cable. Thank you. Well — I did 
sail, you see. Take off your things. The water’s boil- 
ing and we’ll have tea in a minute.’ 

The lady undid the fastening at her throat so that the 
fur-lined cloak opened and slipped a little on her white 
shoulders. She held it in place with one hand, and 
with the other she carefully turned back the lace hood 
from her face, so as not to disarrange her hair. Mr. Van 
Torp was making tea, and he looked up at her over the 
teapot. 

‘I dressed for dinner,’ she said, explaining. 

‘Well,’ said Mr. Van Torp, looking at her, ‘I should 
think you did!’ 

There was real admiration in his tone, though it was 
distinctly reluctant. 


102 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. V 


‘I thought it would save half an hour and give us 
more time together/ said the lady simply. 

She sat down in the shabby easy-chair, and as she 
did so the cloak slipped and lay about her waist, and 
she gathered one side of it over her knees. Her gown 
was of black velvet, without so much as a bit of lace, 
except at the sleeves, and the only ornament she wore 
was a short string of very perfect pearls clasped round 
her handsome young throat. 

She was handsome, to say the least. If tired ghosts 
of departed barristers were haunting the dingy room in 
Hare Court that night, they must have blinked and 
quivered for sheer pleasure at what they saw, for Mr. 
Van Torp’s visitor was a very fine creature to look at; 
and if ghosts can hear, they heard that her voice was 
sweet and low, like an evening breeze and flowing water 
in a garden, even in the Garden of Eden. 

She was handsome, and she was young; and above all 
she had the freshness, the uncon ta ninated bloom, the 
subdued brilliancy of nature’s mest perfect growing 
things. It was in the deep clear eyes, in the satin sheen 
of her bare shoulders under the sordid gaslight; it was 
in the strong smooth lips, delicately shaded from salmon 
colour to the faintest peach-blossom; it was in the firm 
oval of her face, in the well-modelled ear, the straight 
throat and the curving neck; it was in her graceful 
attitude; it was everywhere. ‘No doubt/ the ghosts 
might have said, ‘there are more beautiful women in 
England than this one, but surely there is none more 
like a thoroughbred and a Derby winner!’ 


CHAP. V 


THE PRIMADONNA 


103 


‘You take sugar, don’t you?’ asked Mr. Van Torp, 
having got the lid off the old tobacco-tin with some 
difficulty, for it had developed an inclination to rust 
since it had last been moved. 

‘One lump, please,’ said the thoroughbred, looking 
at the fire. 

‘I thought I remembered,’ observed the millionaire. 
‘The tea’s good,’ he added, ‘and you’ll have to excuse 
the cup. And there’s no cream.’ 

‘I’ll excuse anything,’ said the lady, ‘I’m so glad to 
be here!’ 

‘Well, I’m glad to see you too,’ said Mr. Van Torp, 
giving her the cup. ‘Crackers? I’ll see if the’ ’re any 
in the cupboard. I forgot.’ 

He went to the corner again and found a small tin of 
biscuits, which he opened and examined under gaslight. 

‘Mouldy,’ he observed. ‘Weevils in them, too. 
Sorry. Does it matter much?’ 

‘Nothing matters,’ answered the lady, sweet and low. 
‘But why do you put them away if they are bad? It 
would be better to burn them and be done with it.’ 

He was taking the box back to the cupboard. 

‘I suppose you’re right,’ he said reluctantly. ‘But 
it always seems wicked to burn bread, doesn’t it?’ 

‘Not when it’s weevilly,’ replied the thoroughbred, 
after sipping the hot tea. 

He emptied the contents of the tin upon the coal fire, 
and the room presently began to smell of mouldy toast. 

‘Besides,’ he said, ‘it’s cruel to burn weevils, I sup- 
pose. If I’d thought of that, I’d have left them alone. 


104 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. V 


It’s too late now. They’re done for, poor beasts! I’m 
sorry. I don’t like to kill things.’ 

He stared thoughtfully at the already charred re- 
mains of the holocaust, and shook his head a little. The 
lady sipped her tea and looked at him quietly, perhaps 
affectionately, but he did not see her. 

‘You think I’m rather silly sometimes, don’t you?’ 
he asked, still gazing at the fire. 

‘No,’ she answered at once. ‘It’s never silly to be 
kind, even to weevils.’ 

‘Thank you for thinking so,’ said Mr. Van Torp, in an 
oddly humble tone, and he began to drink his own tea. 

If Margaret Donne could have suddenly found herself 
perched among the chimney-pots on the opposite roof, 
and if she had then looked at his face through the win- 
dow, she would have wondered why she had ever felt 
a perfectly irrational terror of him. It was quite plain 
that the lady in black velvet had no such impression. 

‘You need not be so meek,’ she said, smiling. 

She did not laugh often, but sometimes there was a 
ripple in her fresh voice that would turn a man’s head. 
Mr. Van Torp looked at her in a rather dull way. 

‘I believe I feel meek when I’m with you. Especially 
just now.’ 

He swallowed the rest of his tea at a gulp, set the 
cup on the table, and folded his hands loosely together, 
his elbows resting on his knees; in this attitude he leaned 
forward and looked at the burning coals. Again his 
companion watched his hard face with affectionate 
interest. 


CHAP. V 


THE PRIMADONNA 


105 


‘Tell me just how it happened/ she said. ‘I mean, 
if it will help you at all to talk about it/ 

‘Yes. You always help me/ he answered, and then 
paused. ‘I think I should like to tell you the whole 
thing/ he added after an instant. ‘Somehow, I never 
tell anybody much about myself/ 

‘I know/ 

She bent her handsome head in assent. Just then it 
would have been very hard to guess what the relations 
were between the oddly assorted pair, as they sat a 
little apart from each other before the grate. Mr. Van 
Torp was silent now, as if he were making up his mind 
how to begin. 

In the pause, the lady quietly held out her hand 
towards him. He saw without turning further, and he 
stretched out his own. She took it gently, and then, 
without warning, she leaned very far forward, bent over 
it and touched it with her lips. He started and drew it 
back hastily. It was as if the leaf of a flower had 
settled upon it, and had hovered an instant, and flut- 
tered away in a breath of soft air. 

‘Please don’t !’ he cried, almost roughly. ‘There’s 
nothing to thank me for. I’ve often told you so/ 

But the lady was already leaning back in the old 
easy-chair again as if she had done nothing at all unusual. 

‘It wasn’t for myself/ she said. ‘It was for all the 
others, who will never know.’ 

‘Well, I’d rather not/ he answered. ‘It’s not worth 
all that. Now, see here! I’m going to tell you as near 
as I can what happened, and when you know you can 


106 


THE PHIMADONNA 


chap. V 


make up your mind. You never saw but one side of 
me anyhow, but you’ve got to see the other sooner or 
later. No, I know what you’re going to say — all that 
about a dual nature, and Jekyll and Hyde, and all the 
rest of it. That may be true for nervous people, but 
I’m not nervous. Not at all. I never was. What I 
know is, there are two sides to everybody, and one’s 
always the business side. The other may be anything. 
Sometimes it’s good, sometimes it’s bad. Sometimes it 
cares for a woman, sometimes it’s a collector of art 
things, Babylonian glass, and Etruscan toys and pre- 
historic dolls. It may gamble, or drink, or teach a 
Sunday school, or read Dante, or shoot, or fish, or any- 
thing that’s of no use. But one side’s always the 
business side. That’s certain.’ 

Mr. Van Torp paused, and looked at his companion’s 
empty cup. Seeing that he was going to get up in order 
to give her more, she herself rose quickly and did it for 
herself. He sat still and watched her, probably because 
the business side of his nature judged that he could be 
of no use. The fur-lined cloak was now lying in the 
easy-chair, and there was nothing to break the sweeping 
lines of the black velvet from her dazzling shoulders to 
her waist, to her knee, to her feet. Mr. Van Torp 
watched her in silence, till she sat down again. 

‘You know me well enough to understand that,’ he 
said, going on. ‘My outside’s my business side, and 
that’s what matters most. Now the plain truth is this. 
My engagement to Miss Bamberger was just a business 
affair. Bamberger thought of it first, and suggested it 


CHAP. V 


THE PRIMADONNA 


107 


to me, and he asked her if she’d mind being engaged to 
me for a few weeks; and she said she wouldn’t provided 
she wasn’t expected to marry me. That was fair and 
square, anyway, on both sides. Wasn’t it?’ 

‘It depends on why you did it,’ said the lady, going 
to the point directly. 

‘That was the business side,’ answered her com- 
panion. ‘You see, a big thing like the Nickel Trust 
always has a lot of enemies, besides a heap of people 
who want to get some of it cheap. This time they put 
their heads together and got up one of the usual stories. 
You see, Isidore H. Bamberger is the president and I 
only appear as a director, though most of it’s mine. So 
they got up a story that he was operating on his own 
account to get behind me, and that we were going to 
quarrel over it, and there was going to be a slump, and 
people began to believe it. It wasn’t any use talking 
to the papers. We soon found that out. Sometimes 
the public won’t believe anything it’s told, and some- 
times it swallows faster than you can feed to it. I 
don’t know why, though I’ve had a pretty long expe- 
rience, but I generally do know which state it’s in. I 
feel it. That’s what’s called business ability. It’s like 
fishing. Any old fisherman can judge in half an hour 
whether the fish are going to bite all day or not. If 
he’s wrong once, he’ll be right a hundred times. Well, 
I felt talking was no good, and so did Bamberger, and 
the shares began to go down before the storm. If the 
big slump had come there’d have been a heap of money 
lost. I don’t say we didn’t let the shares drop a couple 


108 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. V 


of points further than they needed to, and Bamberger 
bought any of it that happened to be lying around, and 
the more he bought the quicker it wanted to go down, 
because people said there was going to be trouble and 
an investigation. But if we’d gone on, lots of people 
would have been ruined, and yet we didn’t just see how 
to stop it sharp, till Bamberger started his scheme. 
Do you understand all that?’ 

The lady nodded gravely. 

‘You make it clear,’ she said. 

‘Well, I thought it was a good scheme,’ continued 
her companion, ‘and as the girl said she didn’t mind, 
we told we were engaged. That settled things pretty 
quick. The shares went up again in forty-eight hours, 
and as we’d bought for cash we made the points, and 
the other people were short and lost. But when every- 
thing was all right again we got tired of being engaged, 
Miss Bamberger and I; and besides, there was a young 
fellow she’d a fancy for, and he kept writing to her that 
he’d kill himself, and that made her nervous, you see, 
and she said if it went on another day she knew she’d 
have appendicitis or something. So we were going to 
announce that the engagement was broken. And the 
very night before ’ 

He paused. Not a muscle of the hard face moved, 
there was not a change in the expression of the tre- 
mendous mouth, there was not a tremor in the tone; 
but the man kept his eyes steadily on the fire. 

‘Oh, well, she’s dead now, poor thing,’ he said pres- 
ently. ‘And that’s what I wanted to tell you. I 


CHAP. V 


THE PRIMADONNA 


109 


suppose it’s not a very pretty story, is it? But I’ll tell 
you one thing. Though we made a little by the turn of 
the market, we saved a heap of small fry from losing all 
they’d put in. If we’d let the slump come and then 
bought we should have made a pile; but then we might 
have had difficulty in getting the stock up to anywhere 
near par again for some time.’ 

' Besides,’ said the lady quietly, 'you would not have 
ruined all those little people if you could help it.’ 

'You think I wouldn’t?’ He turned his eyes to her 
now. 

'I’m sure you would not,’ said the lady with perfect 
confidence. 

'I don’t know, I’m sure,’ answered Mr. Van Torp in 
a doubtful tone. 'Perhaps I wouldn’t. But it would 
only have been business if I had. It’s not as if Bam- 
berger and I had started a story on purpose about our 
quarrelling in order to make things go down. I draw 
the line there. That’s downright dishonest, I call it. 
But if we’d just let things slide and taken advantage 
of what happened, it would only have been business 
after all. Except for that doubt about getting back to 
par,’ he added, as an afterthought. 'But then I should 
have felt whether it was safe or not.’ 

'Then why did you not let things slide, as you call it?’ 

'I don’t know, I’m sure. Maybe I was soft-hearted. 
We don’t always know why we do things in business. 
There’s a great deal more in the weather where big 
money is moving than you might think. For instance, 
there was never a great revolution in winter. But as 


110 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. V 


for making people lose their money, those who can’t 
keep it ought not to have it. They’re a danger to 
society, and half the time it’s they who upset the market 
by acting like lunatics. They get a lot of sentimental 
pity sometimes, those people; but after all, if they didn’t 
try to cut in without capital, and play the game without 
knowing the rules, business would be much steadier 
and there would be fewer panics. They’re the people 
who get frightened and run, not we. The fact is, they 
ought never to have been there. That’s why I believe 
in big things myself.’ 

He paused, having apparently reached the end of his 
subject. 

‘Were you with the poor girl when she died?’ asked 
the lady presently. 

‘No. She’d dined with a party and was in their box, 
and they were the last people who saw her. You read 
about the explosion. She bolted from the box in the 
dark, I was told, and as she couldn’t be found after- 
wards they concluded she had rushed out and taken a 
cab home. It seemed natural, I suppose.’ 

‘Who found her at last?’ 

‘A man called Griggs — the author, you know. He 
carried her to the manager’s room, still alive. They 
got a doctor, and as she wanted to see a woman, they 
sent for Cordova, the singer, from her dressing-room, 
and the girl died in her arms. They said it was heart 
failure, from shock.’ 

‘It was very sad.’ 

‘I’m sorry for poor Bamberger,’ said Mr. Van Torp 


CHAP. V 


THE PRIMADONNA 


111 


thoughtfully. ‘She was his only child, and he doted on 
her. I never saw a man so cut up as he looked. I 
wanted to stay, but he said the mere sight of me drove 
him crazy, poor fellow, and as I had business over here 
and my passage was taken, I just sailed. Sometimes 
the kindest thing one can do is to get out. So I did. 
But I'm very sorry for him. I wish I could do any- 
thing to make it easier for him. It was nobody's fault, 
I suppose, though I do think the people she was with 
might have prevented her from rushing out in the dark. 7 

‘They were frightened themselves. How could any 
one be blamed for her death? 7 

‘Exactly. But if any one could be made responsible, 
I know Bamberger would do for him in some way. He's 
a resentful sort of man if any one does him an injury. 
Blood for blood is Bamberger's motto, every time. 
One thing I'm sure of. He'll run down whoever was 
responsible for that explosion, and he'll do for him, 
whoever he is, if it costs one million to get a conviction. 
I wouldn't like to be the fellow! 7 

‘I can understand wishing to be revenged for the 
death of one's only child, 7 said the lady thoughtfully. 
‘Cannot you? 7 

The American turned his hard face to her. 

‘Yes, 7 he said, ‘I can. It's only human, after all. 7 

She sighed and looked into the fire. She was married, 
but she was childless, and that was a constant regret to 
' her. Mr. Van Torp knew it and understood. 

‘To change the subject, 7 he said cheerfully, ‘I sup- 
pose you need money, don't you? 7 


112 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. V 


‘Oh yes! Indeed I do!’ 

Her momentary sadness had already disappeared, 
and there was almost a ripple in her tone again as she 
answered. 

‘How much?’ asked the millionaire smiling. 

She shook her head and smiled too; and as she met 
his eyes she settled herself and leaned far back in the 
shabby easy-chair. She was wonderfully graceful and 
good to look at in her easy attitude. 

‘I’m afraid to tell you how much!’ She shook her 
head again, as she answered. 

‘Well/ said Mr. Van Torp in an encouraging tone, 
‘I’ve brought some cash in my pocket, and if it isn’t 
enough I’ll get you some more to-morrow. But I won’t 
give you a cheque. It’s too compromising. I thought 
of that before I left New York, so I brought some Eng- 
lish notes from there.’ 

‘How thoughtful you always are for me!’ 

‘It’s not much to do for a woman one likes. But 
I’m sorry if I’ve brought too little. Here it is, any- 
way.’ 

He produced a large and well-worn pocket-book, and 
took from it a small envelope, which he handed to her. 

‘Tell me how much more you’ll need,’ he said, ‘and 
I’ll give it to you to-morrow. I’ll put the notes between 
the pages of a new book and leave it at your door. He 
wouldn’t open a package that was addressed to you 
from a bookseller’s, would he?’ 

‘No,’ answered the lady, her expression changing a 
little, ‘I think he draws the line at the bookseller.’ 


CHAP. V 


THE PRIMADONNA 


113 


' You see, this was meant for you/ said Mr. Van Torp. 
' There are your initials on it.’ 

She glanced at the envelope, and saw that it was 
marked in pencil with the letters M. L. in one corner. 

' Thank you/ she said, but she did not open it. 

'You’d better count the notes/ suggested the mil- 
lionaire. 'I’m open to making mistakes myself.’ 

The lady took from the envelope a thin flat package 
of new Bank of England notes, folded together in four. 
Without separating them she glanced carelessly at the 
first, which was for a hundred pounds, and then counted 
the others by the edges. She counted four after the 
first, and Mr. Van Torp watched her face with evident 
amusement. 

'You need more than that, don’t you?’ he asked, 
when she had finished. 

'A little more, perhaps/ she said quietly, though she 
could not quite conceal her disappointment, as she 
folded the notes and slipped them into the envelope 
again. ' But I shall try to make this last. Thank you 
very much.’ 

'I like you/ said Mr. Van Torp. 'You’re the real 
thing. They’d call you a chief’s daughter in the 
South Seas. But I’m not so mean as all that. I only 
thought you might need a little cash at once. That’s 
all.’ 

A loud knocking at the outer door prevented the lady 
from answering. 

She looked at Mr. Van Torp in surprise. 

'What’s that?’ she asked, rather anxiously. 


114 


THE PRIMADONNA 


chap, v 


‘I don’t know/ he answered. ‘He couldn’t guess 
that you were here, could he?’ 

‘Oh no! That’s quite out of the question!’ 

‘Then I’ll open the door/ said the millionaire, and he 
left the sitting-room. 

The lady had not risen, and she still leaned back in 
her seat. She idly tapped the knuckles of her gloved 
hand with the small envelope. 

The knocking was repeated, she heard the outer door 
opened, and the sound of voices followed directly. 

‘Oh!’ Mr. Van Torp exclaimed in a tone of contemp- 
tuous surprise, ‘it’s you, is it? Well, I’m busy just 
now. I can’t see you till to-morrow.’ 

‘My business will not keep till to-morrow/ answered 
an oily voice in a slightly foreign accent. 

At the very first syllables the lady rose quickly to 
her feet, and resting one hand on the table she leant 
forward in the direction of the door, with an expres- 
sion that was at once eager and anxious, and yet quite 
fearless. 

‘What you call your business is going to wait my 
convenience/ said Mr. Van Torp. ‘You’ll] find me 
here to-morrow morning until eleven o’clock.’ 

From the sounds the lady judged that the American 
now attempted to shut the door in his visitor’s face, 
but that he was hindered and that a scuffle followed. 

‘Hold him!’ cried the oily voice in a tone of command. 
‘Bring him in! Lock the door!’ 

It was clear enough that the visitor had not come 
alone, and that Mr. Van Torp had been overpowered. 


CHAP. V 


THE PRIMADONNA 


115 


The lady bit her salmon-coloured lip angrily and con- 
temptuously. 

A moment later a tall heavily-built man with thick 
fair hair, a long moustache, and shifty blue eyes, rushed 
into the room and did not stop till there was only the 
small table between him and the lady. 

‘I’ve caught you! What have you to say?’ he 
asked. 

‘ To y ou ? N o thing ! ’ 

She deliberately turned her back on her husband, 
rested one elbow on the mantelpiece and set one foot 
upon the low fender, drawing up her velvet gown over 
her instep. But a moment later she heard other foot- 
steps in the room, and turned her head to see Mr. Van 
Torp enter the room between two big men who were 
evidently ex-policemen. The millionaire, having failed 
to shut the door in the face of the three men, had been 
too wise to attempt any further resistance. 

The fair man glanced down at the table and saw the 
envelope with his wife’s initials lying beside the tea 
things. She had dropped it there when she had risen 
to her feet at the sound of his voice. He snatched it 
away as soon as he saw the pencilled letters on it, and 
in a moment he had taken out the notes and was looking 
over them. 

'I should like you to remember this, please/ he said, 
addressing the two men who had accompanied him. 
‘This envelope is addressed to my wife, under her ini- 
tials, in the handwriting of Mr. Van Torp. Am I right 
in taking it for your handwriting?’ he inquired, in a 


116 


THE PRIMADONNA 


chap. V 


disagreeably polite tone, and turning towards the mil- 
lionaire. 

‘You are/ answered the American, in a perfectly 
colourless voice and without moving a muscle. ‘That’s 
my writing.’ 

‘And this envelope,’ continued the husband, holding 
up the notes before the men, ‘contains notes to the 
amount of four thousand one hundred pounds.’ 

‘Five hundred pounds, you mean,’ said the lady 
coldly. 

‘See for yourself!’ retorted the fair man, raising his 
eyebrows and holding out the notes. 

‘That’s correct/ said Mr. Van Torp, smiling and 
looking at the lady. ‘Four thousand one hundred. 
Only the first one was for a hundred, and the rest were 
thousands. I meant it for a little surprise, you see.’ 

‘Oh, how kind! How dear and kind!’ cried the lady 
gratefully, and with amazing disregard of her husband’s 
presence. 

The two ex-policemen had not expected anything so 
interesting as this, and their expressions were worthy 
of study. They had been engaged, through a private 
agency, to assist and support an injured husband, and 
afterwards to appear as witnesses of a vulgar clandes- 
tine meeting, as they supposed. It was not the first 
time they had been employed on such business, but 
they did not remember ever having had to deal with 
two persons who exhibited such hardened indifference; 
and though the incident of the notes was not new to 
them, they had never been in a case where the amount 


CHAP. V 


THE PRIMADONNA 


117 


of cash received by the lady at one time was so very 
large. 

‘It is needless/ said the fair man, addressing them 
both, ‘to ask what this money was for.’ 

‘Yes/ said Mr. Van Torp coolly. ‘You needn’t 
bother. But I’ll call your attention to the fact that 
the notes are not yours, and that I’d like to see them 
put back into that envelope and laid on that table 
before you go. You broke into my house by force 
anyhow. If you take valuables away with you, which 
you found here, it’s burglary in England, whatever it 
may be in your country; and if you don’t know it, these 
two professional gentlemen do. So you just do as I 
tell you, if you want to keep out of gaol.’ 

The fair man had shown a too evident intention of 
slipping the envelope into his own pocket, doubtless to 
be produced in evidence, but Mr. Van Torp’s final 
argument seemed convincing. 

‘I have not the smallest intention of depriving my 
wife of the price of my honour, sir. Indeed, I am rather 
flattered to find that you both value it so highly.’ 

Mr. Van Torp’s hard face grew harder, and a very 
singular light came into his eyes. He moved forwards 
till he was close to the fair man. 

‘None of that!’ he said authoritatively. ‘If you say 
another word against your wife in my hearing I’ll make 
it the last you ever said to anybody. Now you’d better 
be gone before I telephone for the police. Do you 
understand?’ 

The two ex-policemen employed by a private agency 


118 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. V 


thought the case was becoming more and more inter- 
esting; but at the same time they were made vaguely 
nervous by Mr. Van Torp’s attitude. 

'I think you are threatening me/ said the fair man, 
drawing back a step, and leaving the envelope on the 
table. 

'No/ answered his adversary, 'I’m warning you off 
my premises, and if you don’t go pretty soon I’ll tele- 
phone for the police. Is that a threat?’ 

The last question was addressed to the two men. 

'No, sir,’ answered one of them. 

'It would hardly be to your advantage to have more 
witnesses of my wife’s presence here/ observed the fair 
man coldly, 'but as I intend to take her home we may 
as well go at once. Come, Maud! The carriage is 
waiting.’ 

The lady, whose name was now spoken for the first 
time since she had entered Mr. Van Torp’s lodging, had 
not moved from the fireplace since she had taken up 
her position there. Women are as clever as Napoleon 
or Julius Csesar in selecting strong positions when there 
is to be an encounter, and a fireplace, with a solid man- 
telpiece to lean against, to strike, to cry upon or to 
cling to, is one of the strongest. The enemy is thus 
reduced to prowling about the room and handling knick- 
knacks while he talks, or smashing them if he is of a 
violent disposition. 

The lady now leant back against the dingy marble 
shelf and laid one white-gloved arm along it, in an 
attitude that was positively regal. Her right hand 


CHAP. V 


THE PRIMADONNA 


119 


might appropriately have been toying with the orb of 
empire on the mantelpiece, and her left, which hung 
down beside her, might have loosely held the sceptre. 
Mr. Van Torp, who often bought large pictures, was 
reminded of one recently offered to him in America, 
representing an empress. He would have bought the 
portrait if the dealer could have remembered which 
empress it represented, but the fact that he could not 
had seemed suspicious to Mr. Van Torp. It was clearly 
the man’s business to know empresses by sight. 

From her commanding position the Lady Maud re- 
fused her husband’s invitation to go home with him. 

‘I shall certainly not go with you,’ she said. ‘ Be- 
sides, I’m dining early at the Turkish Embassy and we 
are going to the play. You need not wait for me. I’ll 
take care of myself this evening, thank you.’ 

‘This is monstrous!’ cried the fair man, and with a 
peculiarly un-English gesture he thrust his hand into 
his thick hair. 

The foreigner in despair has always amused the gen- 
uine Anglo-Saxon. Lady Maud’s lip did not curl con- 
temptuously now, she did not raise her eyebrows, nor 
did her eyes flash with scorn. On the contrary, she 
smiled quite frankly, and the sweet ripple was in her 
voice, the ripple that drove some men almost crazy. 

‘You needn’t make such a fuss,’ she said. ‘It’s quite 
absurd, you know. Mr. Van Torp is an old friend of 
mine, and you have known him ever so long, and he is 
a man of business. You are, are you not?’ she asked, 
looking to the American for assent. 


120 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. V 


'Fin generally thought to be that/ he answered. 

‘Very well. I came here, to Mr. Van Torp’s rooms 
in the Temple, before going to dinner, because I wished 
to see him about a matter of business, in what is a place 
of business. It’s all ridiculous nonsense to talk about 
having caught me — and worse. That money is for 
a charity, and I am going to take it before your eyes, 
and thank Mr. Van Torp for being so splendidly gen- 
erous. Now go, and take those persons with you, and 
let me hear no more of this!’ 

Thereupon Lady Maud came forward from the man- 
telpiece and deliberately took from the table the en- 
velope which contained four thousand one hundred 
pounds in new Bank of England notes; and she put it 
into the bosom of her gown, and smiled pleasantly at 
her husband. 

Mr. Van Torp watched her with genuine admiration, 
and when she looked at him and nodded her thanks 
again, he unconsciously smiled too, and answered by a 
nod of approval. 

The fair-haired foreign gentleman turned to his two 
ex-policemen with considerable dignity. 

‘You have heard and seen/ he said impressively. 
‘I shall expect you to remember all this when you are 
in the witness-box. Let us go.’ He made a sweeping 
bow to his wife and Mr. Van Torp. ‘I wish you an 
agreeable evening/ he said. 

Thereupon he marched out of the room, followed by 
his men, who each made an awkward bow at nothing in 
particular before going out. Mr. Van Torp followed them 


CHAP, y 


THE PRIMADONNA 


121 


at some distance towards the outer door, judging that as 
they had forced their way in they could probably find 
their way out. He did not even go to the outer thresh- 
old, for the last of the three shut the door behind him. 

When the millionaire came back Lady Maud was 
seated in the easy-chair, leaning forward and looking 
thoughtfully into the fire. Assuredly no one would have 
suspected from her composed face that anything unusual 
had happened. She glanced at her friend when he 
came in, but did not speak, and he began to walk up 
and down on the other side of the table, with his hands 
behind him. 

‘You’ve got pretty good nerves/ he said presently. 

‘Yes/ answered Lady Maud, still watching the coals, 
‘they really are rather good.’ 

A long silence followed, during which she did not 
move and Mr. Van Torp steadily paced the floor. 

‘I didn’t tell a fib, either/ she said at last. ‘It’s 
charity, in its way.’ 

‘Certainly/ assented her friend. ‘What isn’t either 
purchase-money or interest, or taxes, or a bribe, or a 
loan, or a premium, or a present, or blackmail, must be 
charity, because it must be something, and it isn’t 
anything else you can name.’ 

‘A present may be a charity/ said Lady Maud, still 
thoughtful. 

‘Yes/ answered Mr. Van Torp. ‘It may be, but it 
isn’t always.’ 

He walked twice the length of the room before he 
spoke again. 


122 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. V 


‘Do you think it’s really to be war this time?' he 
asked, stopping beside the table. ‘Because if it is, I’ll 
see a lawyer before I go to Derbyshire.’ 

Lady Maud looked up with a bright smile. Clearly 
she had been thinking of something compared with 
which the divorce court was a delightful contrast. 

‘I don’t know,’ she answered. ‘It must come sooner 
or later, because he wants to be free to marry that 
woman, and as he has not the courage to cut my throat, 
he must divorce me — if he can ! ’ 

‘I’ve sometimes thought he might take the shorter 
way,’ said Van Torp. 

‘He?’ Lady Maud almost laughed, but her com- 
panion looked grave. 

‘There’s a thing called homicidal mania,’ he said. 
‘Didn’t he shoot a boy in Russia a year ago?’ 

‘A young man — one of the beaters. But that was 
an accident.’ 

‘I’m not so sure. How about that poor dog at the 
Theobalds’ last September?’ 

‘He thought the creature was mad,’ Lady Maud 
explained. 

‘He knows as well as you do that there’s no rabies in 
the British Isles,’ objected Mr. Van Torp. ‘Count 
Leven never liked that dog for some reason, and he shot 
him the first time he got a chance. He’s always killing 
things. Some day he’ll kill you, I’m afraid.’ 

‘I don’t think so,’ answered the lady carelessly. ‘If 
he does, I hope he’ll do it neatly! I should hate to be 
maimed or mangled.’ 


CHAP. V 


THE PRIMADONNA 


123 


‘Do you know it makes me uncomfortable to hear 
you talk like that? I wish you wouldn’t! You can’t 
deny that your husband’s half a lunatic, anyway. He 
was behaving like one here only a quarter of an hour 
ago, and it’s no use denying it.’ 

‘But I’m not denying anything!’ 

‘No, I know you’re not,’ said Mr. Van Torp. ‘If you 
don’t know how crazy he is, I don’t suppose any one 
else does. But your nerves are better than mine, as I 
told you. The idea of killing anything makes me un- 
comfortable, and when it comes to thinking that he 
really might murder you some day — well, I can’t 
stand it, that’s all! If I didn’t know that you lock your 
door at night I shouldn’t sleep, sometimes. You do 
lock it, always, don’t you?’ 

‘Oh yes!’ 

‘ Be sure you do to-night. I wonder whether he is in 
earnest about the divorce this time, or whether the 
whole scene was just bluff, to get my money.’ 

‘I don’t know,’ answered Lady Maud, rising. ‘He 
needs money, I believe, but I’m not sure that he would 
try to get it just in that way.’ 

‘Too bad? Even for him?’ 

‘Oh dear, no! Too simple! He’s a tortuous person.’ 

‘He tried to pocket those notes with a good deal of 
directness!’ observed Mr. Van Torp. 

‘Yes. That was an opportunity that turned up 
unexpectedly, but he didn’t know it would. How could 
he? He didn’t come here expecting to find thousands 
of pounds lying about on the table ! It was easy enough 


124 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. V 


to know that I was here, of course. I couldn’t go out 
of my own house on foot, in a dinner-gown, and pick up 
a hansom, could I? I had one called and gave the 
address, and the footman remembered it and told my 
husband. There’s nothing more foolish than making 
mysteries and giving the cabman first one address and 
then another. If Boris is really going to bring a suit, 
the mere fact that there was no concealment as to where 
I was going this evening would be strong evidence, 
wouldn’t it? Evidence he cannot deny, too, since he 
must have learnt the address from the footman, who 
heard me give it! And people who make no secret of a 
meeting are not meeting clandestinely, are they?’ 

'You argue that pretty well,’ said Mr. Van Torp, 
smiling. 

'And besides,’ rippled Lady Maud’s sweet voice, as 
she shook out the folds of her black velvet, ' I don’t care.’ 

Her friend held up the fur-lined cloak and put it over 
her shoulders. She fastened it at the neck and then 
turned to the fire for a moment before leaving. 

'Rufus,’ she said gravely, after a moment’s pause, 
and looking down at the coals, 'you’re an angel.’ 

'The others in the game don’t think so,’ answered 
Mr. Van Torp. 

'No one was ever so good to a woman as you’ve been 
to me,’ said Maud. 

And all at once the joyful ring had died away from 
her voice and there was another tone in it that was 
sweet and low too, but sad and tender and grateful, all 
at once. 


CHAP. V 


THE PRIMADONNA 


125 


' There’s nothing to thank me for/ answered Mr. Van 
Torp. ‘I’ve often told you so. But I have a good 
deal of reason to be grateful to you for all you’ve given 
me.’ 

' Nonsense!’ returned the lady, and the sadness was 
gone again, but not all the tenderness. 'I must be 
going,’ she added a moment later, turning away from 
the fire. 

'I’ll take you to the Embassy in a hansom,’ said the 
millionaire, slipping on his overcoat. 

'No. You mustn’t do that — we should be sure to 
meet some one at the door. Are you going anywhere 
in particular? I’ll drop you wherever you like, and 
then go on. It will give us a few minutes more together.’ 

'Goodness knows we don’t get too many!’ 

'No, indeed!’’ 

So the two went down the dismal stairs of the house 
in Hare Court together. 


CHAPTER VI 


The position of a successful lyric primadonna with 
regard to other artists and the rest of the world is 
altogether exceptional, and is not easy to explain. Her 
value for purposes of advertisement apparently exceeds 
that of any other popular favourite, not to mention the 
majority of royal personages. A respectable publisher 
has been known to bring out a book in which he did not 
believe, solely because a leading lyric soprano promised 
him to say in an interview that it was the book of the 
year. Countless brands of cigars, cigarettes, wines and 
liquors, have been the fashion with the flash crowd 
that frequents public billiard-rooms and consumes un- 
limited tobacco and drink, merely because some famous 
‘ Juliet’ or ‘ Marguerite’ has ‘ consented' to lend her 
name to the articles in question; and half the grog-shops 
on both sides of the Atlantic display to the admiring 
street the most alarming pink and white caricatures, or 
monstrously enlarged photographs, of the three or four 
celebrated lyric sopranos who happen to be before the 
public at any one time. In the popular mind those 
artists represent something which they themselves do 
not always understand. There is a legend about each; 
she is either an angel of purity and light, or a beautiful 
monster of iniquity; she has turned the heads of kings 
126 


CHAP. VI 


THE PRIMADONNA 


127 


— ‘ kings ’ in a vaguely royal plural — completely round 
on their shoulders, or she has built out of her earnings 
a hospital for crippled children; the watery-sentimental 
eye of the flash crowd in its cups sees in her a Phryne, 
a Mrs. Fry, or a Saint Cecilia. Goethe said that every 
man must be either the hammer or the anvil; the bil- 
liard-room public is sure that every primadonna is a 
siren or a martyred wife, or else a public benefactress, 
unless she is all three by turns, which is even more 
interesting. 

In any case, the reporters are sure that every one 
wants to know just what she thinks about everything. 
In the United States, for instance, her opinion on political 
matters is often asked, and is advertised with ‘ scare- 
heads ' that would stop a funeral or arrest the attention 
of a man on his way to the gallows. 

Then, too, she has her ‘following ' of ‘girls/ thousands 
of whom have her photograph, or her autograph, or 
both, and believe in her, and are ready to scratch out 
the eyes of any older person who suggests that she is 
not perfection in every way, or that to be a primadonna 
like her ought not to be every girl's highest ambition. 
They not only worship her, but many of them make 
real sacrifices to hear her sing; for most of them are 
anything but well off, and to hear an opera means 
living without little luxuries, and sometimes without 
necessaries, for days together. Their devotion to their 
idol is touching and true ; and she knows it and is good- 
natured in the matter of autographs for them, and 
talks about ‘my matinee girls' to the reporters, as if 


128 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. VI 


those eleven thousand virgins and more were all her 
younger sisters and nieces. An actress, even the most 
gifted, has no such ‘following.’ ? The greatest dramatic 
sopranos that ever sing Brunhilde and Kundry enjoy 
no such popularity. It belongs exclusively to the night- 
ingale primadonnas, whose voices enchant the ear if 
they do not always stir the blood. It may be explicable, 
but no explanation is at all necessary, since the fact 
cannot be disputed. 

To this amazing popularity Margaret Donne had now 
attained; and she was known to the matinee girls’ 
respectful admiration as Madame Cordova, to the public 
generally and to her comrades as Cordova, to sentimental 
paragraph-writers as Fair Margaret, and to her friends 
as Miss Donne, or merely as Margaret. Indeed, from 
the name each person gave her in speaking of her, it 
was easy to know the class to which each belonged. 

She had bought a house in London, because in her 
heart she still thought England the finest country in 
the world, and had never felt the least desire to live 
anywhere else. She had few relations left and none 
whom she saw; for her father, the Oxford scholar, had 
not had money, and they all looked with disapproval 
on the career she had chosen. Besides, she had been 
very little in England since her parents’ death. Her 
mother’s American friend, the excellent Mrs. Rushmore, 
who had taken her under her wing, was now in Versailles, 
where she had a house, and Margaret actually had the 
audacity to live alone, rather than burden herself with 
a tiresome companion. 


CHAP. VI 


THE PEIMADONNA 


129 


Her courage in doing so was perhaps mistaken, con- 
sidering what the world is and what it generally thinks 
of the musical and theatrical professions; and Mrs. 
Rushmore, who was quite powerless to influence Mar- 
garet’s conduct, did not at all approve of it. The girl’s 
will had always been strong, and her immense success 
had so little weakened her belief in herself, or softened 
her character, that she had grown almost too indepen- 
dent. The spirit of independence is not a fault in 
women, but it is a defect in the eyes of men. Darwin 
has proved that the dominant characteristic of male 
animals is vanity; and what is to become of that if 
women show that they can do without us?/ If the 
emancipation of woman had gone on as it began when 
we were boys, we should by this time be importing wives 
for our sons from Timbuctoo or the Friendly Islands. 
Happily, women are practical beings who rarely stray 
far from the narrow path along which usefulness and 
pleasure may still go hand in hand; for considering how 
much most women do that is useful, the amount of 
pleasure they get out of life is perfectly amazing; and 
when we try to keep up with them in the chase after 
amusement we are surprised at the number of useful 
things they accomplish without effort in twenty-four 
hours. 

But, indeed, women are to us very like the moon, 
which has shown the earth only one side of herself 
since the beginning, though she has watched and studied 
our world from all its sides through uncounted ages. 
We men are alternately delighted, humiliated, and terri- 

K 


130 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. VI 


fied. when women anticipate our wishes, perceive our 
weaknesses, and detect our shortcomings, whether we 
be frisky young colts in the field or sober stagers plod- 
ding along between the matrimonial shafts in harness 
and blinkers. We pride ourselves on having the strength 
to smash the shafts, shake off the harness, and kick the 
cart to pieces if we choose, and there are men who can 
and do. But the man does not live who knows what 
the dickens women are up to w T hen he is going quietly 
along the road, as a good horse should. Sometimes 
they are driving us, and then there is no mistake about 
it; and sometimes they are just sitting in the cart and 
dozing, and we can tell that they are behind us by 
their weight; but very often we are neither driven by 
them nor are we dragging them, and we really have not 
the faintest idea where they are, so that we are reduced 
to telling ourselves, with a little nervousness which we 
do not care to acknowledge, that it is noble and beautiful 
to trust what we love. 

A part of the great feminine secret is the concealment 
of that independence about which there has been so 
much talk in our time. As for suffrage, wherever there 
is such a thing, the woman who does not vote always 
controls far more men’s votes than the woman who 
goes to the polls, and has only her own vote to give. 

Margaret, the primadonna, did not want to vote for 
or against anything; but she was a little too ready to 
assert that she could and would lead her own life as she 
pleased, without danger to her good name, because she 
had never done anything to be ashamed of. The natural 


CHAP. VI 


THE PRIMADONNA 


131 


consequence was that she was gradually losing something 
which is really much more worth having than common- 
place, technical independence. Her friend Lushington 
realised the change as soon as she landed, and it hurt 
him to see it, because it seemed to him a great pity 
that what he had thought an ideal, and therefore a 
natural manifestation of art, should be losing the fine 
outlines that had made it perfect to his devoted gaze. 
But this was not all. His rather over-strung moral 
sense was offended as well as his artistic taste. He felt 
that Margaret was blunting the sensibilities of her 
feminine nature and wronging a part of herself, and 
that the delicate bloom of girlhood was opening to a 
blossom that was somewhat too evidently strong, a 
shade too vivid and more brilliant than beautiful. 

There were times when she reminded him of his 
mother, and those were some of the most painful mo- 
ments of his present life. It is true that compared 
with Madame Bonanni in her prime, as he remembered 
her, Margaret was as a lily of the valley to a giant 
dahlia; yet when he recalled the sweet and healthy 
English girl he had known and loved in Versailles three 
years ago, the vision was delicate and fairy-like beside 
the strong reality of the successful primadonna. She 
was so very sure of herself now, and so fully persuaded 
that she was not accountable to any one for her doings, 
her tastes, or the choice of her friends! If not actually 
like Madame Bonanni, she was undoubtedly beginning 
to resemble two or three of her famous rivals in the 
profession who were nearer to her own age. Her taste 


132 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. VI 


did not run in the direction of white fox cloaks, named 
diamonds, and imperial jade plates; she did not use a 
solid gold toothbrush with emeralds set in the handle, 
like Ismail Pacha; bridge did not amuse her at all, nor 
could she derive pleasure from playing at Monte Carlo; 
she did not even keep an eighty-horse-power motor-car 
worth five thousand pounds. Paul Griggs, who was 
old-fashioned, called motor-cars 1 sudden-death carts/ 
and Margaret was inclined to agree with him. She 
cared for none of these things. 

Nevertheless there was a quiet thoroughgoing luxury 
in her existence, an unseen private extravagance, such 
as Rufus Van Torp, the millionaire, had never dreamt 
of. She had first determined to be a singer in order to 
support herself, because she had been cheated of a 
fortune by old Alvah Moon; but before she had actually 
made her dSbut a handsome sum had been recovered 
for her, and though she was not exactly what is now 
called rich, she was at least extremely well off, apart 
from her professional earnings, which were very large 
indeed. In the certainty that if her voice failed she 
would always have a more than sufficient income for 
the rest of her life, and considering that she was not 
under the obligation of supporting a number of poor 
relations, it was not surprising that she should spend a 
great deal of money on herself. 

It is not every one who can be lavish without going a 
little beyond the finely-drawn boundary which divides 
luxury from extravagance; for useless profusion is by 
nature as contrary to what is aesthetic as fat in the 


CHAP. VI 


THE PRIMADONNA 


133 


wrong place, and is quite as sure to be seen. To spend 
well what rich people are justified in expending over 
and above an ample provision for the necessities and 
reasonable comforts of a large existence is an art in 
itself, and the modest muse of good taste loves not the 
rich man for his riches, nor the successful primadonna 
for the thousands she has a right to throw away if she 
likes. 

Mr. Van Torp vaguely understood this, without at all 
guessing how the great artist spent her money. He 
had understood at least enough to hinder him from 
trying to dazzle her in the beginning of the New York 
season, when he had brought siege against her. 

A week after her arrival in London, Margaret was 
alone at her piano and Lushington was announced. 
Unlike the majority of musicians in real fiction she had 
not been allowing her fingers to ‘ wander over the keys/ 
a relaxation that not seldom leads to outer darkness, 
where the consecutive fifth plays hide-and-seek with 
the falling sub-tonic to superinduce gnashing of teeth 
in them that hear. Margaret was learning her part in 
the Elisir d’ Amove, and instead of using her voice she 
was whistling from the score and playing the accom- 
paniment. The old opera was to be revived during the 
coming season with her and the great Pompeo Stromboli, 
and she was obliged to work hard to have it ready. 

The music-room had a polished wooden floor, and the 
furniture consisted chiefly of a grand piano and a dozen 
chairs. The walls were tinted a pale green; there were 
no curtains at the windows, because they would have 


134 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. VI 


deadened sound, and a very small wood fire was burning 
in an almost miniature fireplace quite at the other end 
of the room. The sun had not quite set yet, and as the 
blinds were still open, a lurid glare came in from the 
western sky, over the houses on the opposite side of 
the wide square. There had been a heavy shower, but 
the streets were already drying. One shaded electric 
lamp stood on the desk of the piano, and the rest of the 
room was illuminated by the yellowish daylight. 

Margaret was very much absorbed in her work, and 
did not hear the door open; but the servant came 
slowly towards her, purposely making his steps heard 
on the wooden floor in order to attract her attention. 
When she stopped playing and whistling, and looked 
round, the man said that Mr. Lushington was down- 
stairs, 

'Ask him to come up,’ she answered, without hesita- 
tion. 

She rose from the piano, went to the window and 
looked out at the smoky sunset. 

Lushington entered the room in a few moments and 
saw only the outline of her graceful figure, as if she 
were cut out in black against the glare from the big 
window. She turned, and a little of the shaded light 
from the piano fell upon her face, just enough to show 
him her expression, and though her glad smile welcomed 
him, there was anxiety in her brown eyes. He came 
forward, fair and supernaturally neat, as ever, and much 
more self-possessed than in former days. It was not 
their first meeting since she had landed, for he had 


CHAP. VI 


THE PRIMADONNA 


135 


been to see her late in the afternoon on the day of her 
arrival, and she had expected him; but she had felt a 
sort of constraint in his manner then, which was new 
to her, and they had talked for half an hour about 
indifferent things. Moreover, he had refused a second 
cup of tea, which was a sure sign that something was 
wrong. So she had asked him to come again a week 
later, naming the day, and she had been secretly dis- 
appointed because he did not protest against being put 
off so long. She wondered what had happened, for his 
letters, his cable to her when she had left America, and 
the flowers he had managed to send on board the 
steamer, had made her believe that he had not changed 
since they had parted before Christmas. 

As she was near the piano she sat down on the stool, 
while he took a small chair and established himself near 
the corner of the instrument, at the upper end of the 
keyboard. The shaded lamp cast a little light on both 
their faces, as the two looked at each other, and Mar- 
garet realised that she was not only very fond of him, 
but that his whole existence represented something she 
had lost and wished to get back, but feared that she 
could never have again. For many months she had 
not felt like her old self till a week ago, when he had 
come to see her after she had landed. 

They had been in love with each other before she 
had begun her career, and she would have married him 
then, but a sort of quixotism, which was highly honour- 
able if nothing else, had withheld him. He had felt 
that his mother’s son had no right to marry Margaret 


136 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. VI 


Donne, though she had told him as plainly as a modest 
girl could that she was not of the same opinion. Then 
had come Logotheti’s mad attempt to carry her off out 
of the theatre, after the dress rehearsal before her debut, 
and Madame Bonanni and Lushington between them 
had spirited her away just in time. After that it had 
been impossible for him to keep up the pretence of 
avoiding her, and a sort of intimacy had continued, 
which neither of them quite admitted to be love, while 
neither would have called it mere friendship. 

The most amazing part of the whole situation was 
that Margaret had continued to see Logotheti as if he 
had not actually tried to carry her off in his motor-car, 
very much against her will. And in spite of former 
jealousies and a serious quarrel Logotheti and Lushington 
spoke to each other when they met. Possibly Lush- 
ington consented to treat him civilly because the plot 
for carrying off Margaret had so completely failed that 
its author had got himself locked up on suspicion of 
being a fugitive criminal. Lushington, feeling that he 
had completely routed his rival on that occasion, could 
afford to be generous. Yet the man of letters, who was 
a born English gentleman on his father’s side, and who 
was one altogether by his bringing up, was constantly 
surprised at himself for being willing to shake hands 
with a Greek financier who had tried to run away with 
an English girl; and possibly, in the complicated work- 
ings of his mind and conflicting sensibilities, half Anglo- 
Saxon and half Southern French, his present conduct 
was due to the fact that Margaret Donne had somehow 


CHAP. VI 


THE PRIMADONNA 


137 


ceased to be a ‘nice English girl’ when she joined the 
cosmopolitan legion that manoeuvres on the international 
stage of ‘Grand Opera/ How could a ‘nice English 
girE remain herself if she associated daily with such 
people as Pompeo Stromboli, Schreiermeyer, Herr Tie- 
fenbach and Signorina Baci-Roventi, the Italian con- 
tralto who could pass for a man so well that she was 
said to have fought a real duel with sabres and wounded 
her adversary before he discovered that she was the 
very lady he had lately left for another — a regular 
Mademoiselle de Maupin! Had not Lushington once 
seen her kiss Margaret on both cheeks in a moment of 
enthusiastic admiration? He was not the average young 
man who falls in love with a singer, either; he knew the 
stage and its depths only too well, for he had his own 
mother’s life always before him, a perpetual reproach. 

Though Margaret had at first revolted inwardly 
against the details of her professional surroundings, she 
had grown used to them by sure and fatal degrees, 
and things that would once have disgusted her were 
indifferent to her now. Men who have been educated 
in conditions of ordinary refinement and who have 
volunteered in the ranks or gone to sea before the mast 
have experienced something very like what befell 
Margaret; but men are not delicately nurtured beings 
whose bloom is damaged by the rough air of reality, 
and the camp and the forecastle are not the stage. Per- 
haps nothing that is necessary shocks really sensible 
people; it is when disagreeable things are perfectly 
useless and quite avoidable — in theory — that they 


138 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. VI 


are most repugnant to men like Edmund Lushington. 
He had warned Margaret of what was in store for her, 
before she had taken the final step; but he had not 
warned himself that in spite of her bringing-up she 
might get used to it all and end by not resenting it any 
more than the rest of the professionals with whom she 
associated. It was this that chilled him. 

‘I hope I’m not interrupting your work/ he said as 
he sat down. 

‘My work?’ 

‘I heard you studying when they let me in.’ 

‘Oh!’ 

His voice sounded very indifferent, and a pause 
followed Margaret’s mild ejaculation. 

‘It’s rather a thankless opera for the soprano, I always 
think,’ he observed. ‘The tenor has it all his own way.’ 

‘The Elisir d’ Amove V 

‘Yes.’ 

‘I’ve not rehearsed it yet,’ said Margaret rather 
drearily. ‘I don’t know.’ 

He evidently meant to talk of indifferent things 
again, as at their last meeting, and she felt that she 
was groping in the dark for something she had lost. 
There was no sympathy in his voice, no interest, and 
she was inclined to ask him plainly what was the matter; 
but her pride hindered her still, and she only looked at 
him with an expression of inquiry. He laid his hand 
on the corner of the piano, and his eyes rested on the 
shaded lamp as if it attracted him. Perhaps he won- 
dered why he had nothing to say to her, and why she 


CHAP. VI 


THE PRIMADONNA 


139 


was unwilling to help the conversation a little, since 
her new part might be supposed to furnish matter for 
a few commonplace phrases. The smoky sunset was 
fading outside and the room was growing dark. 

‘When do the rehearsals begin?' he asked after a 
long interval, and as if he was quite indifferent to the 
answer. 

‘When Stromboli comes, I suppose.' 

Margaret turned on the piano stool, so as to face the 
desk, and she quietly closed the open score and laid it 
on the little table on her other side, as if not caring to 
talk of it any more, but she did not turn to him again. 

‘You had a great success in New York,’ he said, after 
some time. 

To this she answered nothing, but she shrugged her 
shoulders a little, and though he was not looking directly 
at her he saw the movement, and was offended by it. 
Such a little shrug was scarcely a breach of manners, 
but it was on the verge of vulgarity in his eyes, because 
he was persuaded that she had begun to change for the 
worse. He had already told himself that her way of 
speaking was not what it had been last year, and he 
felt that if the change went on she would set his teeth 
on edge some day; and that he was growing more and 
more sensitive, while she was continually becoming less 
so. 

Margaret could not have understood that, and would 
have been hurt if he had tried to explain it. She was 
disappointed, because his letters had made her think 
that she was going to find him just as she had left him, 


140 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. YI 


as indeed he had been till the moment when he saw her 
after her arrival; but then he had changed at once. 
He had been disappointed then, as she was now, and 
chilled, as she was now; he had felt that he was shrinking 
from her then, as she now shrank from him. He suffered 
a good deal in his quiet way, for he had never known 
any woman who had moved him as she once had; but 
she suffered too, and in a much more resentful way. 
Two years of maddening success had made her very 
sure that she had a prime right to anything she wanted 
— within reason! If she let him alone he would sit 
out his half-hour’s visit, making an idle remark now 
and then, and he would go away; but she would not 
let him do that. It was too absurd that after a long and 
affectionate intimacy they should sit there in the soft 
light and exchange platitudes. 

‘Tom/ she said, suddenly resolving to break the ice, 
‘we have been much too good friends to behave in this 
way to each other. If something has come between us, 
I think you ought to tell me — don’t you? ’ 

‘I wish I could,’ Lushington answered, after a mo- 
ment’s hesitation. 

‘If you know, you can,’ said Margaret, taking the 
upper hand and meaning to keep it. 

‘That does not quite follow.’ 

‘Oh yes, it does,’ retorted Margaret energetically. 
‘I’ll tell you why. If it’s anything on your side, it’s 
not fair and honest to keep it from me after writing to 
me as you have written all winter. But if it’s the other 
way, there’s nothing you can possibly know about me 


CHAP. VI 


THE PRIMADONNA 


141 


which you cannot tell me, and if you think there is, 
then some one has been telling you what is not true/ 

‘It's nothing against you; I assure you it’s not.’ 

‘Then there is a woman in the case. Why should 
you not say so frankly? We are not bound to each 
other in any way, I’m sure. I believe I once asked you 
to marry me, and you refused!’ She laughed rather 
sharply. ‘That does not constitute an engagement!’ 

‘You put the point rather brutally, I think,’ said 
Lushington. 

‘Perhaps, but isn’t it quite true? It was not said in 
so many words, but you knew I meant it, and but for 
a quixotic scruple of yours we should have been married. 
I remember asking you what we were making ourselves 
miserable about, since we both cared so much. It was 
at Versailles, the last time we walked together, and we 
had stopped, and I was digging little round holes in 
the road with my parasol. I’m not going to ask you 
again to marry me, so there is no reason in the world 
why you should behave differently to me if you have 
fallen in love with some one else.’ 

‘I’m not in love with any one,’ said Lushington 
sharply. 

‘Then something you have heard about me has 
changed you in spite of what you say, and I have a 
right to know what it is, because I’ve done nothing I’m 
ashamed of.’ 

‘I’ve not heard a word against you,’ he answered, 
almost angrily. ‘Why do you imagine such things?’ 

‘Because I’m honest enough to own that your friend- 


142 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. VI 


ship has meant a great deal to me, even at a distance; 
and as I see that it has broken its neck at some fence 
or other, I’m natural enough to ask what the jump was 
like!’ 

He would not answer. He only looked at her sud- 
denly for an instant, with a slight pinching of the lids, 
and his blue eyes glittered a little; then he turned away 
with a displeased air. 

'Am I just or not?’ Margaret asked, almost sternly. 

'Yes, you are just,’ he said, for it was impossible not 
to reply. 

'And do you think it is just to me to change your 
manner altogether, without giving me a reason? I 
don’t!’ 

'You will force me to say something I would rather 
not say.’ * 

'That is what I am trying to do,’ Margaret retorted. 

'Since you insist on knowing the truth,’ answered 
Lushington, yielding to what was very like necessity, 
'I think you are very much changed since I saw you 
last. You do not seem to me the same person.’ 

For a moment Margaret looked at him with something 
like wonder, and her lips parted, though she said nothing. 
Then they met again and shut very tight, while her 
brown eyes darkened till they looked almost black; she 
turned a shade paler, too, and there was something 
almost tragic in her face. 

'I’m sorry,’ Lushington said, watching her, 'but you 
made me tell you.’ 

'Yes,’ she answered slowly. 'I made you tell me, 


CHAP. VI 


THE PRIMADONNA 


143 


and Fm glad I did. So I have changed as much as that, 
have I? In two years !’ 

She folded her hands on the little shelf of the empty 
music desk, bent far forwards and looked down between 
the polished wooden bars at the strings below, as if 
she were suddenly interested in the mechanism of the 
piano. 

Lushington turned his eyes to the darkening windows, 
and both sat thus in silence for some time. 

‘Yes,’ she repeated at last, ‘Fm glad I made you tell 
me. It explains everything very well.’ 

Still Lushington said nothing, and she was still 
examining the strings. Her right hand stole to the 
keys, and she pressed down one note so gently that it 
did not strike; she watched the little hammer that rose 
till it touched the string and then fell back into its 
place. 

‘You said I should change — I remember your words.’ 
Her voice was quiet and thoughtful, whatever she felt. 
‘I suppose there is something about me now that grates 
on your nerves.’ 

There was no resentment in her tone, nor the least 
intonation of sarcasm. But Lushington said nothing; 
he was thinking of the time when he had thought her 
an ideal of refined girlhood, and had believed in his 
heart that she could never stand the life of the stage, 
and would surely give it up in sheer disgust, no matter 
how successful she might be. Yet now, she did not 
even seem offended by what he had told her. So much 
the better, he thought; for he was far too truthful to 


144 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. VI 


take back one word in order to make peace, even if she 
burst into tears. Possibly, of the two, his reflections 
were sadder than hers just then, but she interrupted 
them with a question. 

Tan you tell me of any one thing I do that jars on 
you?’ she asked. ‘Or is it what I say, or my way of 
speaking? I should like to know.’ 

‘It’s nothing, and it’s everything/ answered Lush- 
ington, taking refuge in a commonplace phrase, ‘and I 
suppose no one else would ever notice it. But Pm so 
awfully sensitive about certain things. You know why/ 

She knew why; yet it was with a sort of wonder that 
she asked herself what there was in her tone or manner 
that could remind him of his mother; but though she 
had spoken quietly, and almost humbly, a cold and 
secret anger was slowly rising in her. The great artist, 
who held thousands spellbound and breathless, could 
not submit easily to losing in such a way the only 
friendship that had ever meant much to her. The man 
who had just told her that she had lost her charm for 
him meant that she was sinking to the level of her 
surroundings, and he was the only man she had ever 
believed that she loved. Two years ago, and even less, 
she would have been generously angry with him, and 
would have spoken out, and perhaps all would have 
been over; but those two years of life on the stage had 
given her the self-control of an actress when she chose 
to exercise it, and she had acquired an artificial com- 
mand of her face and voice which had not belonged to 
her original frank and simple self. Perhaps Lushington 


CHAP. VI 


THE PRIMADONNA 


145 


knew that too, as a part of the change that offended 
his taste. At twenty-two, Margaret Donne would have 
coloured, and would have given him a piece of her 
young mind very plainly; Margarita da Cordova, aged 
twenty-four, turned a trifle paler, shut her lips, and 
was frigidly angry, as if some ignorant music-hall 
reporter had attacked her singing in print. She was 
convinced that Lushington was mistaken, and that he 
was merely yielding to that love of finding fault with 
what he liked which a familiar passage in Scripture 
attributes to the Divinity, but with which many of us 
are better acquainted in our friends; in her opinion, 
such fault-finding was personal criticism, and it irritated 
her vanity, over-fed with public adulation and the 
sincere praise of musical critics. 'If you don’t like me 
as I am, there are so many people who do that you 
don’t count!’ That was the sub-conscious form of her 
mental retort, and it was in the manner of Cordova, 
and not of Margaret. 

Once upon a time, when his exaggerated sense of 
honour was driving him away, she had said rather 
foolishly that if he left her she would not answer for 
herself. She had felt a little desperate, but he had 
told her quietly that he, who knew her, would answer 
for her, and her mood had changed, and she had been 
herself again. But it was different this time. He 
meant much more than he said; he meant that she 
had lowered herself, and she was sure that he would 
not 'answer’ for her now. On the contrary, it was his 
intention to let her know that he no longer believed in 


146 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. VI 


her, and perhaps no longer respected or trusted her. 
Yet, little by little, during their last separation, his 
belief in her, and his respect for her, had grown in her 
estimation, because they alone still connected her with 
the maidenliness and feminine refinement in which she 
had grown up. Lushington had broken a link that had 
been strong. 

She was at one of the cross-roads of her life; she was 
at a turning point in the labyrinth, after passing which 
it would be hard to come back and find the right way. 
Perhaps old Griggs could help her if it occurred to him; 
but that was unlikely, for he had reached the age when 
men who have seen much take people as they find them. 
Logotheti would certainly not help her, though she 
knew instinctively that she was still to him what she 
had always been, and that if he ever had the opportunity 
he sought, her chances of escape would be small indeed. 

Therefore she felt more lonely after Lushington had 
spoken than she had ever felt since her parents had died, 
and much more desperate. But nothing in the world 
would have induced her to let him know it, and her 
anger against him rose slowly, and it was cold and 
enduring, as that sort of resentment is. She was so 
proud that it gave her the power to smile carelessly 
after a minute’s silence, and she asked him some per- 
fectly idle questions about the news of the day. He 
should not know that he had hurt her very much; he 
should not suspect for a moment that she wished him 
to go away. 

She rose presently and turned up the lights, rang the 


CHAP. VI 


THE PRIMADONNA 


147 


bell, and when the window curtains were drawn, and 
tea was brought, she did everything she could to make 
Lushington feel at his ease; she did it out of sheer pride, 
for she did not meditate any vengeance, but was only 
angry, and wished to get rid of him without a scene. 

At last he rose to go away, and when he held out his 
hand there was a dramatic moment. 

'I hope you’re not angry with me,’ he said with a 
cheerful smile, for he was quite sure that she bore him 
no lasting grudge. 

'I?’ 

She laughed so frankly and musically after pro- 
nouncing the syllable, that he took it for a disclaimer. 

So he went away, shutting the door after him in a 
contented way, not sharply as if he were annoyed with 
her, nor very softly and considerately as if he were 
sorry for her, but with a moderate, businesslike snap 
of the latch as if everything were all right. 

She went back to the piano when she was alone, and 
sat down on the music-stool, but her hands did not go 
to the keys till she was sure that Lushington was already 
far from the house. 

A few chords, and then she suddenly began to sing 
with the full power of her voice, as if she were on the 
stage. She sang Rosina’s song in the Barbiere di 
Siviglia as she had never sung it in her life, and for 
the first time the words pleased her. 

*. . . una vipera sard! ’ 

What 'nice English girl’ ever told herself or any one 
else that she would be a 'viper’? 


CHAPTER VII 


Two days later Margaret was somewhat surprised by 
an informal invitation to dine at the Turkish Embassy. 
The Ambassador had lately been transferred to London 
from Paris, where she had known him through Logotheti 
and had met him two or three times. The latter, as a 
Fanariote Greek, was a Turkish subject, and although 
he had once told Margaret that the Turks had murdered 
his father in some insurrection, and though he himself 
might have hesitated to spend much time in Constan- 
tinople, he nevertheless maintained friendly relations 
with the representatives of what was his country; and 
for obvious reasons, connected with Turkish finance, 
they treated him with marked consideration. On 
general principles and in theory Turks and Greeks hate 
each other; in practice they can live very amicably 
side by side. In the many cases in which Armenians 
have been attacked and killed by the Turks no Greek 
has ever been hurt except by accident; on the other 
hand, none has lifted a hand to defend an Armenian in 
distress, which sufficiently proves that the question of 
religion has not been concerned at all. 

Margaret accepted the Ambassador’s invitation, feel- 
ing tolerably sure of meeting Logotheti at the dinner. 
If there were any other women they would be of the 
14S 


CHAP. VII 


THE PRIMADONNA 


149 


meteoric sort, the fragments of former social planets 
that go on revolving in the old orbit, more or less 
divorced, bankrupt, or otherwise unsound, though still 
smart, the kind of women who are asked to fill a table 
on such occasions 1 because they won’t mind’ — that is 
to say, they will not object to dining with a primadonna 
or an actress whose husband has become nebulous 
and whose reputation is mottled. The men, of whom 
there might be several, would be either very clever or 
overpoweringly noble, because all geniuses and all peers 
are supposed to like their birds of paradise a little high. 
I wonder why. I have met and talked with a good 
many men of genius, from Wagner and Liszt to Zola 
and some still living contemporaries, and, really, their 
general preference for highly correct social gatherings 
has struck me as phenomenal. There are even noble- 
men who seem to be quite respectable, and pretend 
that they would rather talk to an honest woman at a 
dinner party than drink bumpers of brut champagne 
out of Astarte’s satin slipper. 

Mustapha Pasha, the Turkish Ambassador, was a 
fair, pale man of fifty, who had spiritual features, quiet 
blue eyes, and a pleasant smile. His hands were deli- 
cately made and very white, but not effeminate. ITe 
had been educated partly in England, and spoke Eng- 
lish without difficulty and almost without accent, as 
Logotheti did. He came forward to meet Margaret as 
she entered the room, and he greeted her warmly, 
thanking her for being so good as to come at short 
notice. 


150 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. VII 


Logotheti was the next to take her hand, and she 
looked at him attentively when her eyes met his, 
wondering whether he, too, would think her changed. 
He himself was not, at all events. Mustapha Pasha, 
a born Musalman and a genuine Turk, never arrested 
attention in an English drawing-room by his appearance; 
but Constantine Logotheti, the Greek, was an Oriental 
in looks as well as in character. His beautiful eyes 
were almond-shaped, his lips were broad and rather 
flat, and the small black moustache grew upwards and 
away from them so as not to hide his mouth at all. He 
had an even olive complexion, and any judge of men 
would have seen at a glance that he was thoroughly 
sound and as strong as a professional athlete. His coat 
had a velvet collar; a single emerald stud, worth several 
thousand pounds, diffused a green refulgence round 
itself in the middle of his very shiny shirt front; his 
waistcoat was embroidered and adorned with diamond 
buttons, his trousers were tight, and his name, with 
those of three or four other European financiers, made 
it alternately possible or impossible for impecunious 
empires and kingdoms to raise money in England, 
France and Germany. In matters of business, in the 
East, the Jew fears the Greek, the Greek fears the Arme- 
nian, the Armenian fears the Persian, and the Persian 
fears only Allah. One reason why the Jews do not 
care to return to Palestine and Asia Minor is that they 
cannot get a living amongst Christians and Mohamme- 
dans, a plain fact which those eminent and charitable 
European Jews who are trying to draw their fellow- 


CHAP. VII 


THE PRIMADONNA 


151 


believers eastward would do well to consider. Even in 
Europe there are far more poor Jews than Christians 
realise; in Asia there are hardly any rich ones. The 
Venetians were too much for Shylock, and he lost his 
ducats and his daughter; amongst Christian Greeks, 
Christian Armenians, and Musalman Persians, from 
Constantinople to Tiflis, Teheran, Bagdad and Ll /o, 
the poor man could not have saved sixpence a year. 

This is not a mere digression, since it may serve to de- 
fine Logo the ti’s position in the scale of the financial forces. 

Margaret took his hand and looked at him just a 
little longer than she had looked at Mustapha Pasha. 
He never wrote to her, and never took the trouble to let 
her know where he was; but when they met his time 
was hers, and when he could be with her he seemed to 
have no other pre-occupation in life. 

‘I came over from Paris to-day/ he said. ‘When 
may I come and see you?' 

That was always the first question, for he never 
wasted time. 

‘To-morrow, if you like. Come late — about seven.' 

The Ambassador was on her other side. A little knot 
of men and one lady were standing near the fire in an 
expectant sort of way, ready to be introduced to Mar- 
garet. She saw the bony head of Paul Griggs, and she 
smiled at him from a distance. He was talking to a very 
handsome and thorough-bred looking woman in plain 
black velvet, who had the most perfectly beautiful 
shoulders Margaret had ever seen. 

Mustapha Pasha led the Primadonna to the group. 


152 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. VII 


'Lady Maud/ he said to the beauty, 'this is my old 
friend Senorita da Cordova. Countess Leven/ he added, 
for Margaret’s benefit. 

She had not met him more than three times, but she 
did not resent being called his old friend. It was well 
meant, she thought. 

Lady Maud held out her hand cordially. 

'I’ve wanted to know you ever so long,’ she said, in 
her sweet low voice. 

'That’s very kind of you/ Margaret answered. 

It is not easy to find a proper reply to people who 
say they have long hoped to meet you, but Griggs came 
to the rescue, as he shook hands in his turn. 

'That was not a mere phrase/ he said with a smile. 
‘It’s quite true. Lady Maud wanted me to give her a 
letter to you a year ago.’ 

'Indeed I did/ asseverated the beauty, nodding, 'but 
Mr. Griggs said he didn’t know you well enough!’ 

'You might have asked me/ observed Logotheti. 
'I’m less cautious than Griggs.’ 

'You’re too exotic/ retorted Lady Maud, with a 
ripple in her voice. 

The adjective described the Greek so well that the 
others laughed. 

'Exotic/ Margaret repeated the word thoughtfully. 

'For that matter,” put in Mustapha Pasha with a 
smile, 'I can hardly be called a native!’ 

The Countess Leven looked at him critically. 

'You could pass for one/ she said, 'but Monsieur 
Logotheti couldn’t.’ 


CHAP. VII 


THE PRIMADONNA 


153 


The other men, whom Margaret did not know, had 
been listening in silence, and maintained their expectant 
attitude. In the pause which followed Lady Maud's 
remark the Ambassador introduced them in foreign 
fashion: one was a middle-aged peer who wore gold- 
rimmed spectacles and looked like a student or a man 
of letters; another was the most successful young play- 
wright of the younger generation, and he wore a very 
good coat and was altogether well turned out, for in 
his heart he prided himself on being the best groomed 
man in London; a third was a famous barrister who 
had a crisp and breezy way with him that made flat 
calms in conversation impossible. Lastly, a very dis- 
agreeable young man, who seemed a mere boy, was 
introduced to the Primadonna. 

‘Mr. Feist/ said the Ambassador, who never forgot 
names. 

Margaret was aware of a person with an unhealthy 
complexion, thick hair of a dead-leaf brown colour, and 
staring blue eyes that made her think of glass marbles. 
The face had an unnaturally youthful look, and yet, at 
the same time, there was something profoundly vicious 
about it. Margaret wondered who in the world the 
young man might be and why he was at the Turkish 
Embassy, apparently invited there to meet her. She at 
once supposed that in spite of his appearance he must 
have some claim to celebrity. 

‘I'm a great admirer of yours, Senorita,' said Mr. 
Feist in a womanish voice and with a drawl. ‘I was in 
the Metropolitan in New York when you sang in the 


154 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. VII 


dark and prevented a panic. I suppose that was about 
the finest thing any singer ever did.’ 

Margaret smiled pleasantly, though she felt the 
strongest repulsion for the man. 

'I happened to be on the stage/ she said modestly. 
'Any of the others would have done the same.’ 

'Well/ drawled Mr. Feist, 'may be. I doubt it/ 

Dinner was announced. 

'Will you keep house for me?’ asked the Ambassador 
of Lady Maud. 

'There’s something rather appropriate about your 
playing Ambassadress here/ observed Logotheti. 

Margaret heard but did not understand that her new 
acquaintance was a Russian subject. Mustapha Pasha 
held out his arm to take her in to dinner. The spec- 
tacled peer took in Lady Maud, and the men straggled 
in. At table Lady Maud sat opposite the Pasha, with 
the peer on her right and the barrister on her left. 
Margaret was on the right of the Ambassador, on whose 
other side Griggs was placed, and Logotheti was Mar- 
garet’s other neighbour. Feist and the young play- 
wright were together, between Griggs and the nobleman. 

Margaret glanced round the table at the people and 
wondered about them. She had heard of the barrister 
and the novelist, and the peer’s name had a familiar 
sound that suggested something unusual, though she 
could not quite remember what it was. It might be 
pictures, or the north pole, or the divorce court, or a new 
idiot asylum; it would never matter much. The new 
acquaintances on whom her attention fixed itself were 


CHAP. VII 


THE PRIMADONNA 


155 


Lady Maud, who attracted her strongly, and Mr. Feist, 
who repelled her. She wished she could speak Greek 
in order to ask Logotheti who the latter was and why 
he was present. To judge by appearances he was 
probably a rich young American who travelled and 
frequented theatres a good deal, and who wished to be 
able to say that he knew Cordova. He had perhaps 
arrived lately with a letter of introduction to the Am- 
bassador, who had asked him to the first nondescript 
informal dinner he gave, because the man would not 
have fitted in anywhere else. 

Logotheti began to talk at once, while Mustapha 
Pasha plunged into a political conversation with Griggs. 

‘Pm much more glad to see you than you can imagine/ 
the Greek said, not in an undertone, but just so softly 
that no one else could hear him. 

‘Pm not good at imagining/ answered Margaret. 
‘But I’m glad you are here. There are so many new 
faces/ 

‘Happily you are not shy. One of your most enviable 
qualities is your self-possession/ 

‘You’re not lacking in that way either/ laughed 
Margaret. ‘Unless you have changed very much/ 

‘Neither of us has changed much since last year. I 
only wish you would!’ 

Margaret turned her head to look at him. 

‘So you think I am not changed!’ she said, with a 
little pleased surprise in her tone. 

‘Not a bit. If anything, you have grown younger 
in the last two years.’ 


156 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. VII 


'Does that mean more youthful? More frisky? I 
hope not!' 

'No, not at all. What I see is the natural effect of 
vast success on a very nice woman. Formerly, even 
after you had begun your career, you had some doubts 
as to the ultimate result. The future made you restless, 
and sometimes disturbed the peace of your face a little, 
when you thought about it too much. That’s all gone 
now, and you are your real self, as nature meant you 
to be.’ 

'My real self? You mean, the professional singer!’ 

'No. A great artist, in the person of a thoroughly 
nice woman.’ 

Margaret had thought that blushing was a thing of 
the past with her, but a soft colour rose in her cheeks 
now, from sheer pleasure at what he had said. 

'I hope you don’t think it impertinent of me to tell 
you so,’ said Logotheti with a slight intonation of 
anxiety. 

'Impertinent!’ cried Margaret. 'It’s the nicest thing 
any one has said to me for months, and thank goodness 
I’m not above being pleased.’ 

Nor was Logotheti above using any art that could 
please ;her. His instinct about women, finding no 
scruples in the way, had led him into present favour by 
the shortest road. It is one thing to say brutally that 
all women like flattery; it is quite another to foresee 
just what form of flattery they will like. People who 
do not know professional artistic life from the inner side 
are much too ready to cry out that first-class pro- 


CHAP. YII 


THE PRIMADONNA 


157 


fessionals will swallow any amount of undiscriminating 
praise. The ability to judge their own work is one of 
the gifts which place them above the second class. 

‘I said what I thought/ observed Logotheti with a 
sudden air of conscientious reserve. ‘For once in our 
acquaintance, I was not thinking of pleasing you. 
And then I was afraid that I had displeased you, as I 
so of^en have. 5 * 

The last words were spoken with a regret that was 
real. 

‘I have forgiven you/ said Margaret quietly; ‘with 
conditions !’ she added, as an afterthought, and smiling. 

‘Oh, I know — I’ll never do it again.’ 

‘That’s what a runaway horse seems to say when he 
walks quietly home, with his head down and his ears 
limp, after nearly breaking one’s neck!’ 

‘I was a born runaway/ said Logotheti meekly, ‘but 
you have cured me.’ 

In the pause that followed this speech, Mr. Feist 
leaned forward and spoke to Margaret across the table. 

‘I think we have a mutual friend, Madame/ he said. 

‘Indeed?’ Margaret spoke coolly; she did not like 
to be called ‘Madame’ by people who spoke English. 

‘Mr. Van Torp/ explained the young man. 

‘Yes/ Margaret said, after a moment’s hesitation, 
‘I know Mr. Van Torp; he came over on the same 
steamer.’ 

The others at the table were suddenly silent, and 
seemed to be listening. Lady Maud’s clear eyes rested 
on Mr. Feist’s face. 


158 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. VII 


‘He’s quite a wonderful man, I think/ observed the 
latter. 

‘Yes/ assented the Primadonna indifferently. 

‘Don’t you think he is a wonderful man?’ insisted 
Mr. Feist, with his disagreeable drawl. 

‘I daresay he is/ Margaret answered, ‘but I don’t 
know him very well.’ 

‘Really? That’s funny!’ 

‘Why?’ 

‘Because I happen to know that he thinks everything 
of you, Madame Cordova. That’s why I supposed you 
were intimate friends.’ 

The others had listened hitherto in a sort of mournful 
silence, distinctly bored. Lady Maud’s eyes now turned 
to Margaret, but the latter still seemed perfectly in- 
different, though she was wishing that some one else 
would speak. Griggs turned to Mr. Feist, who was next 
to him. 

‘You mean that he is a wonderful man of business, 
perhaps/ he said. 

‘Well, we all know he’s that, anyway/ returned 
his neighbour. ‘He’s not exactly a friend of mine, not 
exactly!’ A meaning smile wrinkled the unhealthy 
face and suddenly made it look older. ‘All the same, 
I think he’s quite wonderful. He’s not merely an able 
man, he’s a man of powerful intellect.’ 

‘A Nickel Napoleon/ suggested the barrister, who 
was bored to death by this time, and could not imagine 
why Lady Maud followed the conversation with so 
much interest. 


CHAP. VII 


THE PRIMADONNA 


159 


' Your speaking of nickel/ said the peer, at her elbow, 

' reminds me of that extraordinary new discovery — 
let me see — what is it?’ 

' America?’ suggested the barrister viciously. 

'No/ said his lordship, with perfect gravity, 'it’s not 
that. Ah yes, I remember! It’s a process for making 
nitric acid out of air.’ 

Lady Maud nodded and smiled, as if she knew all 
about it, but her eyes were again scrutinising Mr. Feist’s 
face. Her neighbour, whose hobby was applied science, 
at once launched upon a long account of the invention. 
From time to time the beauty nodded and said that 
she quite understood, which was totally untrue, but 
well meant. 

'That young man has the head of a criminal/ said the 
barrister on her other side, speaking very low. 

She bent her head very slightly, to show that she had 
heard, and she continued to listen to the description of 
the new process. By this time every one was talking 
again. Mr. Feist was in conversation with Griggs, and 
showed his profile to the barrister, who quietly studied 
the retreating forehead and the ill-formed jaw, the 
latter plainly discernible to a practised eye, in spite 
of the round cheeks. The barrister was a little mad on 
the subject of degeneracy, and knew that an unnaturally 
boyish look in a grown man is one of the signs of it. 
In the course of a long experience at the bar he had 
appeared in defence of several 'high-class criminals.’ 
By way of comparing Mr. Feist with a perfectly healthy 
specimen of humanity, he turned to look at Logotheti 


160 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. VII 


beside him. Margaret was talking with the Ambassa- 
dor, and the Greek was just turning to talk to his neigh- 
bour, so that their eyes met, and each waited for the 
other to speak first. 

‘Are you a judge of faces? ’ asked the barrister after 
a moment. 

‘Men of business have to be, to some extent/ answered 
Logotheti. 

‘So do lawyers. What should you say was the matter 
with that one?’ 

It was impossible to doubt that he was speaking of 
the only abnormal head at the table, and Logotheti 
looked across the wide table at Mr. Feist for several 
seconds before he answered. 

‘Drink/ he said in an undertone, when he had finished 
his examination. 

‘Yes. Anything else?’ 

‘May go mad any day, I should think/ observed 
Logotheti. 

‘Do you know anything about him?’ 

‘Never saw him before/ 

‘And we shall probably never see him again/ said the 
Englishman. ‘That’s the worst of it. One sees such 
heads occasionally, but one very rarely hears what be- 
comes of them.’ 

The Greek did not care a straw what became of Mr. 
Feist’s head, for he was waiting to renew his conversa- 
tion with Margaret. 

Mustapha Pasha told her that she should go to Con- 
stantinople some day and sing to the Sultan, who would 


CHAP. VII 


THE PRIMADONNA 


161 


give her a pretty decoration in diamonds; and she 
laughed carelessly and answered that it might be very 
amusing. 

‘ 1 shall be very happy to show you the way/ said the 
Pasha. ‘ Whenever you have a fancy for the trip, 
promise to let me know/ 

Margaret had no doubt that he w T as quite in earnest, 
and would enjoy the holiday vastly. She was used to 
such kind offers and knew how to laugh at them, though 
she was very well aware that they were not made in 
jest. 

‘I have a pretty little villa on the Bosphorus/ said 
the Ambassador. ‘If you should ever come to Con- 
stantinople it is at your disposal, with everything in it, 
as long as you care to use it.’ 

‘It’s too good of you!’ she answered. ‘But I have a 
small house of my own here which is very comfortable, 
and I like London.’ 

‘I know/ answered the Pasha blandly; ‘I only meant 
to suggest a little change.’ 

He smiled pleasantly, as if he had meant nothing, 
and there was a pause, of which Logotheti took advan- 
tage. 

‘You are admirable/ he said. 

‘I have had much more magnificent invitations/ 
she answered. ‘You once wished to give me your 
yacht as a present if I would only make a trip to Crete 
— with a party of archaeologists! An archduke once 
proposed to take me for a drive in a cab!’ 

‘If I remember/ said Logotheti, ‘I offered you the 

M 


162 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. VII 


owner with the yacht. But I fancy you thought me 
too “exotic,” as Countess Leven calls me.’ 

‘Oh, much!’ Margaret laughed again, and then 
lowered her voice, ‘by the bye, who is she?’ 

‘Lady Maud? Didn’t you know her? She is Lord 
Creedmore’s daughter, one of seven or eight, I believe. 
She married a Russian in the diplomatic service, four 
years ago — Count Leven — but everybody here calls her 
Lady Maud. She hadn’t a penny, for the Creedmores are 
poor. Leven was supposed to be rich, but there are all 
sorts of stories about him, and he’s often hard up. As 
for her, she always wears that black velvet gown, and 
I’ve been told that she has no other. I fancy she gets a 
new one every year. But people say ’ 

Logotheti broke off suddenly. 

‘What do they say?’ Margaret was interested. 

‘No, I shall not tell you, because I don’t believe it.’ 

‘If you say you don’t believe the story, what harm 
can there be in telling it?’ 

‘No harm, perhaps. But what is the use of repeating 
a bit of wicked gossip?’ 

Margaret’s curiosity was roused about the beautiful 
Englishwoman. 

‘If you won’t tell me, I may think it is something far 
worse!’ 

‘I’m sure you could not imagine anything more un- 
likely!’ 

‘Please tell me? Please! I know it’s mere idle curi- 
osity, but you’ve roused it, and I shall not sleep unless 
I know.’ 


CHAP. VII 


THE PRIMADONNA 


163 


1 And that would be bad for your voice/ 

‘ Of course ! Please ’ 

Logotheti had not meant to yield, but he could not 
resist her winning tone. 

‘I’ll tell you, but I don’t believe a word of it, and I 
hope you will not either. The story is that her husband 
found her with Van Torp the other evening in rooms 
he keeps in the Temple, and there was an envelope on 
the table addressed to her in his handwriting, in which 
there were four thousand one hundred pounds in 
notes.’ 

Margaret looked thoughtfully at Lady Maud before 
she answered. 

‘She? With Mr. Van Torp, and taking money from 
him? Oh no! Not with that face!’ 

‘Besides,’ said Logotheti, ‘why the odd hundred? 
The story gives too many details. People never know 
as much of the truth as that.’ 

‘And if it is true,’ returned Margaret, ‘he will divorce 
her, and then we shall know.’ 

‘For that matter,’ said the Greek contemptuously, 
‘Leven would not be particular, provided he had his 
share of the profits.’ 

‘ Is it as bad as that ? How disgusting ! Poor woman ! ’ 

‘Yes. I fancy she is to be pitied. In connection 
with Van Torp, may I ask an indiscreet question?’ 

‘No question you can ask me about him can be in- 
discreet. What is it?’ 

‘Is it true that he once asked you to marry him and 
you refused him?’ 


164 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. VII 


Margaret turned her pale face to Logotheti with a look 
of genuine surprise. 

‘Yes. It’s true. But I never told any one. How 
in the world did you hear it?’ 

‘And he quite lost his head, I heard, and behaved like 
a madman ’ 

‘Who told you that?’ asked Margaret, more and more 
astonished, and not at all pleased. 

‘He behaved so strangely that you ran into the next 
room and bolted the door, and waited till he went 
away ’ 

‘Have you been paying a detective to watch me?’ 

There was anger in her eyes for a moment, but she 
saw at once that she was mistaken. 

‘No,’ Logotheti answered with a smile, ‘why should 
I? If a detective told me anything against you I should 
not believe it, and no one could tell me half the good I 
believe about you!’ 

‘You’re really awfully nice,’ laughed Margaret, for 
she could not help being flattered. ‘Forgive me, 
please ! ’ 

‘I would rather that the Nike of Samothrace should 
think dreadful things of me than that she should not 
think of me at all ! ’ 

‘Do I still remind you of her?’ asked Margaret. 

‘Yes. I used to be quite satisfied with my Venus, 
but now I want the Victory from the Louvre. It’s not 
a mere resemblance. She is you, and as she has no face 
I see yours when I look at her. The other day I stood 
so long on the landing where she is, that a watchman 


CHAP. VII 


THE PRIMADONNA 


165 


took me for an anarchist waiting to deposit a bomb, 
and he called a policeman, who asked me my name and 
occupation. I was very near being arrested — on your 
account again! You are destined to turn the heads of 
men of business!’ 

At this point Margaret became aware that she and 
Logotheti were talking in undertones, while the con- 
versation at the table had become general, and she 
reluctantly gave up the idea of again asking where he 
had got his information about her interview with Mr. Van 
Torp in New York. The dinner came to an end before 
long, and the men went out with the ladies, and began to 
smoke in the drawing-room, standing round the coffee. 

Lady Maud put her arm through Margaret’s. 

1 Cigarettes are bad for your throat, I’m sure,’ she said, 
‘and I hate them.’ 

She led the Primadonna away through a curtained 
door to a small room furnished according to Eastern 
ideas of comfort, and she sat down on a low, hard divan, 
which was covered with a silk carpet. The walls were 
hung with Persian silks, and displayed three or four 
texts from the Koran, beautifully written in gold on a 
green ground. Two small inlaid tables stood near the 
divan, one at each end, and two deep English easy- 
chairs, covered with red leather, were placed symmetri- 
cally beside them. There was no other furniture, and 
there were no gimcracks about, such as Europeans 
think necessary in an ‘ oriental ’ room. 

With her plain black velvet, Lady Maud looked hand- 
somer than ever in the severely simple surroundings. 


166 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. VII 


‘Do you mind?’ she asked, as Margaret sat down be- 
side her. Tm afraid I carried you off rather uncere- 
moniously !’ 

‘No/ Margaret answered. ‘I’m glad to be quiet, it’s 
so long since I was at a dinner-party.’ 

‘I’ve always hoped to meet you/ said Lady Maud, 
‘ but you’re quite different from what I expected. I did 
not know you were really so young — ever so much 
younger than I am.’ 

‘Really?’ 

‘Oh, yes! I’m seven-and-twenty, and I’ve been 
married four years.’ 

‘I’m twenty-four/ said Margaret, ‘and I’m not 
married yet.’ 

She was aware that the clear eyes were studying her 
face, but she did not resent their scrutiny. There was 
something about her companion that inspired her with 
trust at first sight, and she did not even remember the 
impossible story Logotheti had told her. 

‘I suppose you are tormented by all sorts of people 
who ask things, aren’t you?’ 

Margaret wondered whether the beauty was going to 
ask her to sing for nothing at a charity concert. 

‘I get a great many begging letters, and some very 
amusing ones/ she answered cautiously. ‘Yeung girls, 
of whom I never heard, write and ask me to give them 
pianos and the means of getting a musical education. 
I once took the trouble to have one of those requests 
examined. It came from a gang of thieves in Chicago.’ 

Lady Maud smiled, but did not seem surprised. 


CHAP. VII 


THE PRIMADONNA 


167 


‘ Millionaires get lots of letters of that sort/ she said. 
4 Think of poor Mr. Van Torp!’ 

Margaret moved uneasily at the name, which seemed 
to pursue her since she had left New York; but her 
present companion was the first person who had applied 
to him the adjective ‘poor.’ 

‘Do you know him well?’ she asked, by way of saying 
something. 

Lady Maud was silent for a moment, and seemed to 
be considering the question. 

‘I had not meant to speak of him/ she answered 
presently. ‘ I like him, and from what you said at dinner 
I fancy that you don’t, so we shall never agree about 
him.’ 

‘ Perhaps not/ said Margaret. ‘But I really could not 
have answered that odious man’s question in any other 
way, could I? I meant to be quite truthful. Though 
I have met Mr. Van Torp often since last Christmas, I 
cannot say that I know him very well, because I have 
not seen the best side of him.’ 

‘Few people ever do, and you have put it as fairly as 
possible. When I first met him I thought he was a 
dreadful person, and now we’re awfully good friends. 
But I did not mean to talk about him!’ 

‘I wish you would/ protested Margaret. ‘I should 
like to hear the other side of the case from some one 
who knows him well.’ 

‘It would take all night to tell even what I know of 
his story/ said Lady Maud. ‘And as you’ve never 
seen me before you probably would not believe me/ 


168 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. VII 


she added with philosophical calm. 'Why should you? 
The other side of the case, as I know it, is that he is 
kind to me, and good to people in trouble, and true to 
his friends.’ 

'You cannot say more than that of any man/ Margaret 
observed gravely. 

'I could say much more, but I want to talk to you 
about other things.’ 

Margaret, who was attracted by her, and who was sure 
that the story Logotheti had told was a fabrication, as 
he said it was, wished that her new acquaintance would 
leave other matters alone and tell her what she knew 
about Van Torp. 

'It all comes of my having mentioned him accident- 
ally,’ said Lady Maud. 'But I often do — probably be- 
cause I think about him a good deal.’ 

Margaret thought her amazingly frank, but nothing 
suggested itself in the way of answer, so she remained 
silent. 

'Did you know that your father and my father were 
friends at Oxford?’ Lady Maud asked, after a little 
pause. 

'Really?’ Margaret was surprised. 

'When they were undergrads. Your name is Donne, 
isn’t it? Margaret Donne? My father was called 
Foxwell then. That’s our name, you know. He didn’t 
come into the title till his uncle died, a few years ago.’ 

'But I remember a Mr. Foxwell when I was a child,’ 
said Margaret. ' He came to see us at Oxford sometimes. 
Do you mean to say that he was your father?’ 


CHAP. YII 


THE PRIMADONNA 


169 


‘Yes. He is alive, you know — tremendously alive! 
— and he remembers you as a little girl, and wants me 
to bring you to see him. Do you mind very much? 
I told him I was to meet you this evening.’ 

‘I should be very glad indeed/ said Margaret. 

‘He would come to see you/ said Lady Maud, rather 
apologetically, ‘ but he sprained his ankle the other day. 
He was chivvying a cat that was after the pheasants at 
Creedmore — he’s absurdly young, you know — and 
he came down at some hurdles.’ 

‘I’m so sorry! Of course I shall be delighted to go.’ 

‘It’s awfully good of you, and he’ll be ever so pleased. 
May I come and fetch you? When? To-morrow after- 
noon about three? Are you quite sure you don’t mind?’ 

Margaret was quite sure; for the prospect of seeing 
an old friend of her father’s, and one whom she herself 
remembered well, was pleasant just then. She was 
groping for something she had lost, and the merest 
thread was worth following. 

‘If you like I’ll sing for him/ she said. 

‘Oh, he simply hates music!’ answered Lady Maud, 
with unconscious indifference to the magnificence of 
such an offer from the greatest lyric soprano alive. 

Margaret laughed in spite of herself. 

‘Do you hate music too?’ she asked. 

‘No, indeed! I could listen to you for ever. But 
my father is quite different. I believe he hears half a 
note higher with one ear than with the other. At all 
events the effect of music on him is dreadful. He be- 
haves like a cat in a thunderstorm. If you want to 


170 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. VII 


please him, talk to him about old bindings. Next to 
shooting he likes bindings better than anything in the 
world — in fact he’s a capital bookbinder himself.’ 

At this juncture Mustapha Pasha’s pale and spiritual 
face appeared between the curtains of the small room, 
and he interrupted the conversation by a single word. 

‘ Bridge?’ 

Lady Maud was on her feet in an instant. 

‘ Rather!’ 

‘Do you play?’ asked the Ambassador, turning to 
Margaret, who rose more slowly. 

‘Very badly. I would rather not.’ 

The diplomatist looked disappointed, and she noticed 
his expression, and suspected that he would feel himself 
obliged to talk to her instead of playing. 

‘I’m very fond of looking on,’ she added quickly, ‘if 
you will let me sit beside you.’ 

They went back to the drawing-room, and presently 
the celebrated Senorita da Cordova, who was more 
accustomed to being the centre of interest than she 
realised, felt that she was nobody at all, as she sat at 
her host’s elbow watching the game through a cloud of 
suffocating cigarette smoke. Even old Griggs, who 
detested cards, had sacrificed himself in order to make 
up the second table. As for Logotheti, he was too tact- 
ful to refuse a game in which every one knew him to be 
a past master, in order to sit out and talk to her the 
whole evening. 

Margaret watched the players with some little interest 
at first. The disagreeable Mr. Feist lost and became 


CHAP. VII 


THE PRIMADONNA 


171 


even more disagreeable, and Margaret reflected that 
whatever he might be he was certainly not an adven- 
turer, for she had seen a good many of the class. The 
Ambassador lost even more, but with the quiet indiffer- 
ence of a host who plays because his guests like that 
form of amusement. Lady Maud and the barrister 
were partners, and seemed to be winning a good deal; 
the peer whose hobby was applied science revoked and 
did dreadful things with his trumps, but nobody seemed 
to care in the least, except the barrister, who was no 
respecter of persons, and had fought his way to celebrity 
by terrorising juries and bullying the Bench. 

At last Margaret let her head rest against the back of 
her comfortable chair, and when she closed her eyes 
because the cigarette smoke made them smart, she for- 
got to open them again, and went sound asleep; for she 
was a healthy young person, and had eaten a good 
dinner, and on evenings when she did not sing she was 
accustomed to go to bed at ten o’clock, if not earlier. 

No one even noticed that she was sleeping, and the 
game went on till nearly midnight, when she was awak- 
ened by the sound of voices, and sprang to her feet with 
the impression of having done something terribly rude. 
Every one was standing, the smoke was as thick as ever, 
and it was tempered by a smell of Scotch whisky. 
The men looked more or less tired, but Lady Maud had 
not turned a hair. 

The peer, holding a tall glass of weak whisky and soda 
in his hand, and blinking through his gold-rimmed 
spectacles, asked her if she were going anywhere else. 


172 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. VII 


‘There’s nothing to go to yet/ she said rather regret- 
fully. 

‘There are women’s clubs/ suggested Logo the ti. 

‘That’s the objection to them/ answered the beauty 
with more sarcasm than grammatical sequence. 

‘Bridge till all hours, though/ observed the barrister. 

‘I’d give something to spend an evening at a smart 
women’s club/ said the playwright in a musing tone. 
‘Is it true that the Crown Prince of Persia got into the 
one in Mayfair as a waiter?’ 

‘They don’t have waiters/ said Lady Maud. ‘Nothing 
is ever true. I must be going home.’ 

Margaret was only too glad to go too. When they 
were downstairs she heard a footman ask Lady Maud 
if he should call a hansom for her. He evidently knew 
that she had no carriage. 

‘May I take you home?’ Margaret asked. 

‘Oh, please do!’ answered the beauty with alacrity. 
‘It’s awfully good of you!’ 

It was raining as the two handsome women got into 
the singer’s comfortable brougham. 

‘Isn’t there room for me too?’ asked Logo the ti, 
putting his head in before the footman could shut the 
door. 

‘Don’t be such a baby/ answered Lady Maud in a 
displeased tone. 

The Greek drew back with a laugh and put up his 
umbrella; Lady Maud told the footman where to go, 
and the carriage drove away. 

‘You must have had a dull evening/ she said. 


CHAP. VII 


THE PRIMADONNA 


173 


‘I was sound asleep most of the time/ Margaret 
answered. Tm afraid the Ambassador thought me 
very rude/ 

'Because you went to sleep? I don’t believe he even 
noticed it. And if he did, why should you mind? No- 
body cares what anybody does nowadays. We’ve sim- 
plified life since the days of our fathers. We think 
more of the big things than they did, and much less of 
the little ones.’ 

'All the same, I wish I had kept awake!’ 

'Nonsense!’ retorted Lady Maud. 'What is the use 
of being famous if you cannot go to sleep when you are 
sleepy? This is a bad world as it is, but it would be 
intolerable if one had to keep up one’s school-room 
manners all one’s life, and sit up straight and spell 
properly, as if Society, with a big S, were a governess 
that could send us to bed without our supper if we 
didn’t!’ 

Margaret laughed a little, but there was no ripple in 
Lady Maud’s delicious voice as she made these singular 
statements. She was profoundly in earnest. 

'The public is my schoolmistress,’ said Margaret. 
'I’m so used to being looked at and listened to on the 
stage that I feel as if people were always watching me 
and criticising me, even when I go out to dinner.’ 

'I’ve no right at all to give you my opinion, because 
I’m nobody in particular,’ answered Lady Maud, 'and 
you are tremendously famous and all that! But you’ll 
make yourself miserable for nothing if you get into the 
way of caring about anybody’s opinion of you, except 


174 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. VII 


on the stage. And you’ll end by making the other 
people uncomfortable too, because you’ll make them 
think that you mean to teach them manners!’ 

‘ Heaven forbid!’ Margaret laughed again. 

The carriage stopped, and Lady Maud thanked her, 
bade her good-night, and got out. 

‘No,’ she said, as the footman was going to ring the 
bell, ‘I have a latch-key, thank you.’ 

It was a small house in Charles Street, Berkeley 
Square, and the windows were quite dark. There was 
not even a light in the hall when Margaret saw Lady 
Maud open the front door and disappear within. 

Margaret went over the little incidents of the evening 
as she drove home alone, and felt better satisfied with 
herself than she had been since Lushington’s visit, in 
spite of having deliberately gone to sleep inMustapha 
Pasha’s drawing-room. No one had made her feel that 
she was changed except for the better, and Lady Maud, 
who was most undoubtedly a smart woman of the 
world, had taken a sudden fancy to her. Margaret told 
herself that this would be impossible if she were ever 
so little vulgarised by her stage life, and in this reflec- 
tion she consoled herself for what Lushington had said, 
and nursed her resentment against him. 

The small weaknesses of celebrities are sometimes 
amazing. There was a moment that evening, as she 
stood before her huge looking-glass before undressing 
and scrutinised her face in it, when she would have 
given her fame and her fortune to be Lady Maud, who 
trusted to a passing hansom or an acquaintance’s car- 


CHAP. VII 


THE PRIMADONNA 


175 


riage for getting home from an Embassy, who let 
herself into a dark and cheerless little house with a latch- 
key, who was said to be married to a slippery foreigner, 
and about whom the gossips invented unedifying tales. 

Margaret wondered whether Lady Maud would ever 
think of changing places with her, to be a goddess for a 
few hours every week, to have more money than she 
could spend on herself, and to be pursued with requests 
for autographs and grand pianos, not to mention invita- 
tions to supper from those supernal personages whose 
uneasy heads wear crowns or itch for them; and Senorita 
da Cordova told herself rather petulantly that Lady 
Maud would rather starve than be the most successful 
soprano that ever trilled on the high A till the house 
yelled with delight, and the royalties held up their 
stalking-glasses to watch the fluttering of her throat, 
if perchance they might see how the pretty noise was 
made. 

But at this point Margaret Donne was a little ashamed 
of herself, and went to bed ; and she dreamt that Edmund 
Lushington had suddenly taken to wearing a little 
moustache, very much turned up and flattened on his 
cheeks, and a single emerald for a stud, which cast a 
greenish refulgence round it upon a shirt-front that was 
hideously shiny; and the effect of these changes in his 
appearance was to make him perfectly odious. 


CHAPTER VIII 


Lord Creedmore had begun life as a poor barrister, 
with no particular prospects, had entered the House of 
Commons early, and had been a hard-working member 
of Parliament till he had inherited a title and a relatively 
exiguous fortune when he was over fifty by the unex- 
pected death of his uncle and both the latter’s sons 
within a year. He had married young; his wife was the 
daughter of a Yorkshire country gentleman, and had 
blessed him with ten children, who were all alive, and 
of whom Lady Maud was not the youngest. He was 
always obliged to make a little calculation to remember 
how old she was, and whether she was the eighth or the 
ninth. There were three sons and seven daughters. 
The sons were all in the army, and all stood between 
six and seven feet in their stockings; the daughters 
were all good-looking, but none was as handsome as 
Maud; they were all married, and all but she had chil- 
dren. Lady Creedmore had been a beauty too, but at 
the present time she was stout and gouty, had a bad 
temper, and alternately soothed and irritated her com- 
plaint and her disposition by following cures or com- 
mitting imprudences. Her husband, who was now over 
sixty, had never been ill a day in his life ; he was as lean 
and tough as a greyhound and as active as a schoolboy, 
a good rider, and a crack shot. 

176 


CHAP. VIII 


THE PRIMADONNA 


177 


His connection with this tale, apart from the friend- 
ship which grew up between Margaret and Lady Maud, 
lies in the fact that his land in Derbyshire adjoined the 
estate which Mr. Van Torp had bought and re-named 
after himself. It was here that Lady Maud and the 
American magnate had first met, two years after her 
marriage, when she had come home on a long visit, 
very much disillusionised as to the supposed advantages 
of the marriage bond as compared with the freedom of 
a handsome English girl of three-and-twenty, who is 
liked in her set and has the run of a score of big country 
houses without any chaperonial encumbrance. For the 
chaperon is going down to the shadowy kingdom of the 
extinct, and is already reckoned with dodos, stage- 
coaches, muzzle loaders, crinolines, Southey’s poems, 
the Thirty-nine Articles, Benjamin Franklin’s reputa- 
tion, the British workman, and the late Herbert Spencer’s 
philosophy. 

On the previous evening Lady Maud had not told 
Margaret that Lord Creedmore lived in Surrey, having 
let his town house since his youngest daughter had 
married. She now explained that it would be absurd 
to think of driving such a distance when one could go 
almost all the way by train. The singer was rather 
scared at the prospect of possibly missing trains, waiting 
in draughty stations, and getting wet by a shower; she 
was accustomed to think nothing of driving twenty 
miles in a closed carriage to avoid the slightest risk of 
a wetting. 

But Lady Maud piloted her safely, and showed an 

N 


178 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. VIII 


intimate knowledge of the art of getting about by public 
conveyances which amazed her companion. She seemed 
to know by instinct the difference between one train 
and another, when all looked just alike, and when she 
had to ask a question of a guard or a porter her inquiry 
was met with business-like directness and brevity, and 
commanded the respect which all officials feel for people 
who do not speak to them without a really good reason 
— so different from their indulgent superiority when 
we enter into friendly conversation with them. 

The journey ended in a w T alk of a quarter of a mile 
from the station to the gate of the small park in which 
the house stood. Lady Maud said she was sorry she 
had forgotten to telephone for a trap to be sent down, 
but added cheerfully that the walk would do Margaret 
good. 

‘You know your way wonderfully well/ Margaret 
said. 

‘Yes/ answered her companion carelessly. ‘I don’t 
think I could lose myself in London, from Limehouse to 
Wormwood Scrubs/ 

She spoke quite naturally, as if it were not in the 
least surprising that a smart woman of the world should 
possess such knowledge. 

‘You must have a marvellous memory for places/ 
Margaret ventured to say. 

‘Why? Because I know my way about? I walk a 
great deal, that’s all.’ 

Margaret wondered whether the Countess Leven habit- 
ually took her walks in the direction of Limehouse in 


CHAP. VIII 


THE PRIMADONNA 


179 


the east or Shepherd’s Bush in the west; and if so, why? 
As for the distance, the thoroughbred looked as if she 
could do twenty miles without turning a hair, and 
Margaret wished she would not walk quite so fast, for, 
like all great singers, she herself easily got out of breath 
if she was hurried; it was not the distance that surprised 
her, however, but the fact that Lady Maud should ever 
visit such regions. 

They reached the house and found Lord Creedmore 
in the library, his lame foot on a stool and covered up 
with a chudder. His clear brown eyes examined Mar- 
garet’s face attentively while he held her hand in his. 

‘So you are little Margery,’ he said at last, w T ith a 
very friendly smile. ‘Do you remember me at all, my 
dear? I suppose I have changed almost more than you 
have.’ 

Margaret remembered him very well indeed as Mr. 
Foxwell, who used always to bring her certain particu- 
larly delicious chocolate wafers whenever he came to 
see her father in Oxford. She sat down beside him and 
looked at his face — clean-shaven, kindly, and energetic 
— the face of a clever lawyer and yet of a keen sports- 
man, a type you will hardly find out of England. 

Lady Maud left the two alone after a few minutes, 
and Margaret found herself talking of her childhood 
and her old home, as if nothing very much worth men- 
tioning had happened in her life during the last ten or 
a dozen years. While she answered her new friend’s 
questions and asked others of him she unconsciously 
looked about the room. The writing-table was not far 


180 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. VIII 


from her, and she saw on it two photographs in plain 
ebony frames; one was of her father, the other was a 
likeness of Lady Maud. Little by little she understood 
that her father had been Lord Creedmore’s best friend 
from their schoolboy days till his death. Yet although 
they had constantly exchanged short visits, the one 
living in Oxford and the other chiefly in town, their 
wives had hardly known each other, and their children 
had never met. 

'Take him all in all/ said the old gentleman gravely, 
'Donne was the finest fellow I ever knew, and the only 
real friend I ever had/ 

His eyes turned to the photograph on the table with 
a far-away manly regret that went to Margaret’s heart. 
Her father had been a reticent man, and as there was 
no reason why he should have talked much about his 
absent friend Foxwell, it was not surprising that Mar- 
garet should never have known how close the tie was 
that bound them. But now, coming unawares upon 
the recollection of that friendship in the man who had 
survived, she felt herself drawn to him as if he were of 
her own blood, and she thought she understood why 
she had liked his daughter so much at first sight. 

They talked for more than half an hour, and Margaret 
did not even notice that he had not once alluded to her 
profession, and that she had so far forgotten herself 
for the time as not to miss the usual platitudes about 
her marvellous voice and her astoundingly successful 
career. 

'I hope you’ll come and stop with us in Derbyshire 


CHAP. VIII 


THE PRIMADONNA 


181 


in September/ he said at last. 'I'm quite ashamed to 
ask you there, for we are dreadfully dull people; but it 
would give us a great deal of pleasure.’ 

'You are very kind indeed/ Margaret said. 'I should 
be delighted to come.’ 

'Some of our neighbours might interest you/ said 
Lord Creedmore. 'There’s Mr. Van Torp, for instance, 
the American millionaire. His land joins mine.’ 

'Really?’ 

Margaret wondered if she should ever again go any- 
where without hearing of Mr. Van Torp. 

'Yes. He bought Oxley Paddox some time ago and 
promptly re-christened it Torp Towers. But he’s not 
a bad fellow. Maud likes him, though Lady Creedmore 
calls him names. He has such a nice little girl — at 
least, it’s not exactly his child, I believe/ his lordship 
ran on rather hurriedly; 'but he’s adopted her, I under- 
stand — at least, I fancy so. At all events she was 
born deaf, poor little thing; but he has had her 
taught to speak and to understand from the lips. 
Awfully pretty child! Maud delights in her. Nice 
governess, too — I forget her name; but she’s a faithful 
sort of woman. It’s a dreadfully hard position, don’t 
you know, to be a governess if you’re young and good- 
looking, and though Van Torp is rather a decent sort, 
I never feel quite sure — Maud likes him immensely, 
it’s true, and that is a good sign; but Maud is utterly 
mad about a lot of things, and besides, she’s singularly 
well able to take care of herself.’ 

'Yes/ said Margaret; but she thought of the story 


182 


THE PRIMADONNA 


chap, vm 


Logo the ti had told her on the previous evening. ‘I 
know Mr. Van Torp, and the little girl and Miss More/ 
she said after a moment. ‘We came over in the same 
steamer.’ 

She thought it was only fair to say that she had met 
the people of whom he had been speaking. There was 
no reason why Lord Creedmore should be surprised by 
this, and he only nodded and smiled pleasantly. 

‘All the better. I shall set Maud on you to drag 
you down to Derbyshire in September/ he said. ‘Women 
never have anything to do in September. Let me see 
— you’re an actress, aren’t you, my dear?’ 

Margaret laughed. It was positively delightful to 
feel that he had never heard of her theatrical career. 

‘No; I’m a singer/ she said. ‘My stage name is 
Cordova.’ 

‘Oh yes, yes/ answered Lord Creedmore, very vaguely. 
‘It’s the same thing — you cannot possibly have any- 
thing to do in September, can you?’ 

‘We shall see. I hope not, this year.’ 

‘If it’s not very indiscreet of me, as an old friend, 
you know, do you manage to make a living by the 
stage?’ 

‘Oh — fair!’ Margaret almost laughed again. 

Lady Maud returned at this juncture, and Margaret 
rose to go, feeling that she had stayed long enough. 

‘Margery has half promised to come to us in Septem- 
ber/ said Lord Creedmore to his daughter, ‘You don’t 
mind if I call you Margery, do you?’ he asked, turning 
to Margaret. ‘I cannot call you Miss Donne since you 


CHAP. Till 


THE PRIMADONNA 


183 


really remember the chocolate wafers! You shall have 
some as soon as I can go to see you! ’ 

Margaret loved the name she had been called by as a 
child. Mrs. Rushmore had severely eschewed dimin- 
utives. 

‘ Margery/ repeated Lady Maud thoughtfully. ‘I like 
the name awfully well. Do you mind calling me Maud? 
We ought to have known each other when we were in 
pinafores P 

In this way it happened that Margaret found herself 
unexpectedly on something like intimate terms with her 
father’s friend and the latter’s favourite child less than 
twenty-four hours after meeting Lady Maud, and this was 
how she was asked to their place in the country for the 
month of September. But that seemed very far away. 

Lady Maud took Margaret home, as she had brought 
her, without making her wait more than three minutes 
for a train, without exposing her to a draught, and 
without letting her get wet, all of which would seem 
easy enough to an old Londoner, but was marvellous 
in the eyes of the young Primadonna, and conveyed to 
her an idea of freedom that was quite new to her. She 
remembered that she used to be proud of her indepen- 
dence when she first went into Paris from Versailles 
alone for her singing lessons; but that trip, contrasted 
with the one from her own house to Lord Creedmore’s 
on the Surrey side, was like going out for an hour’s 
sail in a pleasure-boat on a summer’s afternoon com- 
pared with working a sea-going vessel safely through 
an intricate and crowded channel at night. 


184 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. VIII 


Margaret noticed, too, that although Lady Maud was 
a very striking figure, she was treated with respect in 
places where the singer knew instinctively that if she 
herself had been alone she would have been afraid that 
men would speak to her. She knew very well how to 
treat them if they did, and was able to take care of 
herself if she chose to travel alone; but she ran the 
risk of being annoyed where the beautiful thoroughbred 
was in no danger at all. That was the difference. 

Lady Maud left her at her own door and went off on 
foot, though the hansom that had brought them from 
the Baker Street Station was still lurking near. 

Margaret had told Logotheti to come and see her 
late in the afternoon, and as she entered the hall she 
was surprised to hear voices upstairs. She asked the 
servant who was waiting. 

With infinite difficulty in the matter of pronunciation 
the man informed her that the party consisted of 
Monsieur Logotheti, Herr Schreiermeyer, Signor Strom- 
boli, the Signorina Baci-Roventi, and Fraulein Ottilie 
Braun. The four professionals had come at the very 
moment when Logotheti had gained admittance on the 
ground that he had an appointment, which was true, 
and they had refused to be sent away. In fact, unless 
he had called the police the poor footman could not 
have kept them out. The Signorina Baci-Roventi alone, 
black-browed, muscular, and five feet ten in her shoes, 
would have been almost a match for him alone ; but she 
was backed by Signor Pompeo Stromboli, who weighed 
fifteen stone in his fur coat, was as broad as he was 


CHAP. VIII 


THE PRIMADONNA 


185 


long, and had been seen to run off the stage with Madame 
Bonanni in his arms while he yelled a high G that could 
have been heard in Westminster if the doors had been 
open. Before the onslaught of such terrific foreigners 
a superior London footman could only protest with 
dignity and hold the door open for them to pass. Braver 
men than he had quailed before Schreiermeyer’s stony 
eye, and gentle little Fraulein Ottilie slipped in like a 
swallow in the track of a storm. 

Margaret felt suddenly inclined to shut herself up 
in her room and send word that she had a headache 
and could not see them. But Schreiermeyer was there. 
He would telephone for three doctors, and would refuse 
to leave the house till they signed an assurance that she 
was perfectly well and able to begin rehearsing the 
Elisir d’ Amove the next morning. That was what 
Schreiermeyer would do, and when she next met him 
he would tell her that he would have 'no nonsense, no 
stupid stuff/ and that she had signed an engagement 
and must sing or pay. 

She had never shammed an illness, either, and she 
did not mean to begin now. It was only that for two 
blessed hours and more, with her dead father’s best 
friend and Maud, she had felt like her old self again, 
and had dreamt that she was with her own people. 
She had even disliked the prospect of seeing Logotheti 
after that, and she felt a much stronger repugnance 
for her theatrical comrades. She went to her own room 
before meeting them, and she sighed as she stood before 
the tall looking-glass for a moment after taking off her 


186 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. VIII 


coat and hat. In pulling out the hat-pins her hair 
had almost come down, and Alphonsine proposed to do 
it over again, but Margaret was impatient. 

‘Give me something — a veil, or anything/ she said 
impatiently. ‘They are waiting for me.’ 

The maid instantly produced from a near drawer a 
peach-coloured veil embroidered with green and gold. 
It was a rather vivid modern Turkish one given her by 
Logo the ti, and she wrapped it quickly over her disor- 
dered hair, like a sort of turban, tucking one end in, and 
left the room almost without glancing at the glass again. 
She was discontented with herself now for having dreamt 
of ever again being anything but what she was — a 
professional singer. 

The little party greeted her noisily as she entered the 
music-room. Her comrades had not seen her since she 
had left them in New York, and the consequence was 
that Signorina Baci-Roventi kissed her on both cheeks 
with dramatic force, and she kissed Fraulein Ottilie on 
both cheeks, and Pompeo Stromboli offered himself for 
a like favour and had to be fought off, while Schreier- 
meyer looked on gravely, very much as a keeper at the 
Zoo watches the gambols of the animals in his charge; 
but Logotheti shook hands very quietly, w T ell perceiving 
that his chance of pleasing her just then lay in being 
profoundly respectful while the professionals were over- 
poweringly familiar. His almond-shaped eyes asked her 
how in the world she could stand it all, and she felt 
uncomfortable at the thought that she was used to it. 

Besides, these good people really liked her. The only 


CHAP. VIII 


THE PRIMADONNA 


187 


members of the profession who hated her were the 
other lyric sopranos. Schreiermeyer, rapacious and 
glittering, had a photograph of her hideously enamelled 
in colours inside the cover of his watch, and the fac- 
simile of her autograph was engraved across the lid of 
his silver cigarette-case. Pompeo Stromboli carried 
some of her hair in a locket which he wore on his chain 
between two amulets against the Evil Eye. Fraulein 
Ottilie treasured a little water-colour sketch of her as 
Juliet on which Margaret had written a few friendly 
words, and the Baci-Roventi actually went to the 
length of asking her advice about the high notes the 
contralto has to sing in such operas as Semiramide. 
It would be hard to imagine a more sincere proof of 
affection and admiration than this. 

Margaret knew that the greeting was genuine and 
that she ought to be pleased, but at the first moment 
the noise and the kissing and the rough promiscuity of 
it all disgusted her. 

Then she saw that all had brought her little presents, 
which were arranged side by side on the piano, and she 
suddenly remembered that it was her birthday. They 
were small things without value, intended to make her 
laugh. Stromboli had sent to Italy for a Neapolitan 
clay figure of a shepherd, cleverly modelled and painted, 
and vaguely resembling himself — he had been a Cala- 
brian goatherd. The contralto, who came from Bologna, 
the city of sausages, gave Margaret a tiny pig made of 
silver with holes in his back, in which were stuck a 
number of quill toothpicks. 


188 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. VIII 


‘You will think of me when you use them at table/ 
she said, charmingly unconscious of English prejudices. 

Schreiermeyer presented her with a bronze statuette 
of Shylock whetting his knife upon his thigh. 

‘It will encourage you to sign our next agreement/ 
he observed with stony calm. ‘It is the symbol of 
business. We are all symbolic nowadays/ 

Fraulein Ottilie Braun had wrought a remarkable 
little specimen of German sentiment. She had made a 
little blue pin-cushion and had embroidered some little 
flowers on it in brown silk. Margaret had no difficulty 
in looking pleased, but she also looked slightly puzzled. 

‘They are forget-me-nots/ said the Fraulein, ‘but 
because my name is Braun I made them brown. You 
see? So you will remember your little Braun forget- 
me-not!’ 

Margaret laughed at the primitively simple little jest, 
but she was touched too, and somehow she felt that her 
eyes were not quite dry as she kissed the good little 
woman again. But Logotheti could not understand at 
all, and thought it all extremely silly. He did not like 
Margaret’s improvised turban, either, though he recog- 
nised the veil as one he had given her. The headdress 
was not classic, and he did not think it becoming to the 
Victory of Samothrace. 

He also had remembered her birthday and he had a 
small offering in his pocket, but he could not give it to 
her before the others. Schreiermeyer would probably 
insist on looking at it and would guess its value, whereas 
Logotheti was sure that Margaret would not. He would 


CHAP. VIII 


THE PRIMADONNA 


189 


give it to her when they were alone, and would tell her 
that it was nothing but a seal for her writing-case, a 
common green stone of some kind with a little Greek 
head on it; and she would look at it and think it pretty, 
and take it, because it did not look very valuable to her 
unpractised eve. But the ' common green stone’ was 
a great emerald, and the 'little Greek head’ was an 
intaglio of Anacreon, cut some two thousand and odd 
hundred years ago by an art that is lost; and the setting 
had been made and chiselled for Maria de’ Medici when 
she married Henry the Fourth of France. Logo the ti 
liked to give Margaret things vastly more rare than she 
guessed them to be. 

Margaret offered her visitors tea, and she and Logo- 
theti took theirs while the others looked on or devoured 
the cake and bread and butter. 

'Tea?’ repeated Signor Stromboli. 'I am well. Why 
should I take tea? The tea is for to perspire when I 
have a cold.’ 

The Signorina Baci-Roventi laughed at him. 

'Do you not know that the English drink tea before 
dinner to give themselves an appetite?’ she asked. 'It 
is because they drink tea that they eat so much.’ 

'All the more,’ answered Stromboli. 'Do you not 
see that I am fat? Why should I eat more? Am I to 
turn into a monument of Victor Emanuel?’ 

'You eat too much bread,’ said Schreiermeyer in a 
resentful tone. 

'It is my vice,’ said the tenor, taking up four thin 
slices of bread and butter together and popping them 


190 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. VIII 


all into his mouth without the least difficulty. ‘When 
I see bread, I eat it. I eat all there is.' 

‘We see you do/ returned Schreiermeyer bitterly. 

‘I cannot help it. Why do they bring bread? They 
are in league to make me fat. The waiters know me. 
I go into the Carlton; the head-waiter whispers; a waiter 
brings a basket of bread; I eat it all. I go into Boisin’s, 
or Henry’s; the head- waiter whispers; it is a basket of 
bread; while I eat a few eggs, a chicken, a salad, a tart 
or two, some fruit, cheese, the bread is all gone. I am 
the tomb of all the bread in the world. So I get fat. 
There/ he concluded gravely, ‘it is as I tell you. I 
have eaten all.’ 

And in fact, while talking, he had punctuated each 
sentence with a tiny slice or two of thin bread and 
butter, and everybody laughed, except Schreiermeyer, 
as the huge singer gravely held up the empty glass dish 
and showed it. 

‘What do you expect of me?’ he asked. ‘It is a vice, 
and I am not Saint Anthony, to resist temptation.’ 

‘Perhaps/ suggested Fraulein Ottilie timidly, ‘if you 
exercised a little strength of character ’ 

‘Exercise?’ roared Stromboli, not understanding her, 
for they spoke a jargon of Italian, German, and English. 
‘Exercise? The more I exercise, the more I eat! Ha, 
ha, ha! Exercise, indeed! You talk like crazy!’ 

‘You will end on wheels/ said Schreiermeyer with 
cold contempt. ‘You will stand on a little truck which 
will be moved about the stage from below. You will 
be lifted to Juliet’s balcony by a hydraulic crane. But 


CHAP. VIII 


THE PRIMADONNA 


191 


you shall pay for the machinery. Oh yes, oh yes! I 
will have it in the contract! You shall be weighed. 
So much flesh to move, so much money.’ 

‘ Shylock ! ’ suggested Logotheti, glancing at the stat- 
uette and laughing. 

‘Yes, Shylock and his five hundred pounds of flesh/ 
answered Schreiermeyer, with a faint smile that disap- 
peared again at once. 

‘But I meant character ’ began Fraulein Ottilie, 

trying to go back and get in a word. 

‘Character!’ cried the Baci-Roventi with a deep note 
that made the open piano vibrate. ‘His stomach is his 
heart, and his character is his appetite!’ 

She bent her heavy brows and fixed her gleaming 
black eyes on him with a tragic expression. 

‘“Let them cant about decorum who have characters 
to lose,”’ quoted Logotheti softly. 

This delicate banter went on for twenty minutes, 
very much to Schreiermeyer’s inward satisfaction, for 
it proved that at least four members of his company 
were on good terms with him and with each other; for 
when they had a grudge against him, real or imaginary, 
they became sullen and silent in his presence, and eyed 
him with the coldly ferocious expression of china dogs. 

At last they all rose and went away in a body, leaving 
Margaret with Logotheti. 

‘I had quite forgotten that it was my birthday,’ 
she said, when they were gone. 

‘I’ve brought you a little seal,’ he answered, holding 
out the intaglio. 


192 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. VIII 


She took it and looked at it. 

‘How pretty !’ she exclaimed. ‘It’s awfully kind of 
you to have remembered to-day, and I wanted a seal 
very much/ 

‘It's a silly little thing, just a head on some sort of 
green stone. But I tried it on sealing-wax, and the 
impression is not so bad. I shall be very happy if it’s 
of any use, for I’m always puzzling my brain to find 
something you may like.’ 

‘Thanks very much. It’s the thought I care for.’ 
She laid the seal on the table beside her empty cup. 
‘And now that we are alone,’ she went on, ‘please tell 
me.’ 

‘What?’ 

‘How you found out what you told me at dinner 
last night.’ 

She leant back in the chair, raising her arms and 
joining her hands above her head against the high top 
of the chair, and stretching herself a little. The attitude 
threw the curving lines of her figure into high relief, 
and was careless enough, but the tone in which she 
spoke was almost one of command, and there was a 
sort of expectant resentfulness in her eyes as they 
watched his face while she waited for his answer. She 
believed that he had paid to have her watched by some 
one who had bribed her servants. 

‘I did not find out anything,’ he said quietly. ‘I 
received an anonymous letter from New York giving 
me all the details of the scene. The letter was written 
with the evident intention of injuring Mr. Van Torp. 


CHAP. VIII 


THE PRIMADONNA 


193 


Whoever wrote it must have heard what you said to 
each other, and perhaps he was watching you through 
the keyhole. It is barely possible that by some accident 
he overheard the scene through the local telephone, if 
there was one in the room. Should you care to see 
that part of the letter which concerns you? It is not 
very delicately worded ! ’ 

Margaret’s expression had changed; she had dropped 
her hands and was leaning forward, listening with 
interest. 

‘No/ she said, ‘I don’t care to see the letter, but who 
in the world can have written it? You say it was- 
meant to injure Mr. Van Torp — not me.’ 

‘Yes. There is nothing against you in it. On the 
contrary, the writer calls attention to the fact that 
there never was a word breathed against your reputation, 
in order to prove what an utter brute Van Torp must 
be.’ 

‘Tell me,’ Margaret said, ‘was that story about Lady 
Maud in the same letter?’ 

‘Oh dear, no! That is supposed to have happened 
the other day, but I got the letter last winter.’ 

‘When?’ 

‘In January, I think.’ 

‘He came to see me soon after New Year’s Day,’ said 
Margaret. ‘ I wish I knew who told — I really don’t 
believe it was my maid.’ 

‘I took the letter to one of those men who tell char- 
acter by handwriting,’ answered Logotheti. ‘I don’t 
know whether you believe in that, but I do a little. 


194 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. VIII 


I got rather a queer result, considering that I only 
showed half-a-dozen lines, which could not give any 
idea of the contents . 7 

‘What did the man say ? 7 

‘He said the writer appeared to be on the verge of 
insanity, if not actually mad; that he was naturally of 
an accurate mind, with ordinary business capacities, 
such as a clerk might have, but that he had received 
a much better education than most clerks get, and must 
at one time have done intellectual work. His madness, 
the man said, would probably take some violent form . 7 

‘There 7 s nothing very definite about all that , 7 Mar- 
garet observed. ‘Why in the world should the creature 
have written to you, of all people, to destroy Mr. Van 
Torp’s character ? 7 

‘The interview with you was only an incident , 7 
answered Logo the ti. ‘There were other things, all 
tending to show that he is not a safe person to deal 
with . 7 

‘Why should you ever deal with him ? 7 

Logotheti smiled. 

‘There are about a hundred and fifty men in different 
countries who are regarded as the organs of the world 7 s 
financial body. The very big ones are the vital organs. 
Van Torp has grown so much of late that he is probably 
one of them. Some people are good enough to think 
that I 7 m another. The blood of the financial body — 
call it gold, or credit, or anything you like — circulates 
through all the organs, and if one of the great vital 
ones gets out of order the whole body is likely to suffer. 


CHAP. VIII 


THE PRIMADONNA 


195 


Suppose that Van Torp wished to do something with 
the Nickel Trust in Paris, and that I had private infor- 
mation to the effect that he was not a man to be trusted, 
and that I believed this information, don’t you see that 
I should naturally warn my friends against him, and 
that our joint weight would be an effective obstacle in 
his way?’ 

‘Yes, I see that. But, dear me! do you mean to say 
that all financiers must be strictly virtuous, like little 
woolly white lambs?’ 

Margaret laughed carelessly. If Lushington had 
heard her, his teeth would have been set on edge, but 
Logotheti did not notice the shade of expression and 
tone. 

‘I repeat that the account of the interview with you 
was a mere incident, thrown in to show that Van Torp 
occasionally loses his head and behaves like a madman.’ 

‘I don’t want to see the letter,’ said Margaret, ‘but 
what sort of accusations did it contain? Were they 
all of the same kind?’ 

‘No. There was one other thing — something about 
a little girl called Ida, who is supposed to be the daughter 
of that old Alvah Moon who robbed your mother. You 
can guess the sort of thing the letter said without my 
telling you.’ 

Margaret leaned forward and poked the small wood 
fire with a pair of unnecessarily elaborate gilt tongs, 
and she nodded, for she remembered how Lord Creed- 
more had mentioned the child that afternoon. He had 
hesitated a little, and had then gone on speaking rather 


196 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. VIII 


hurriedly. She watched the sparks fly upward each 
time she touched the log, and she nodded slowly. 

'What are you thinking of?’ asked Logo theti. 

But she did not answer for nearly half a minute. 
She was reflecting on a singular little fact which made 
itself clear to her just then. She was certainly not a 
child; she was not even a very young girl, at twenty- 
four; she had never been prudish, and she did not affect 
the pre-Serpentine innocence of Eve before the fall. 
Yet it was suddenly apparent to her that because she 
was a singer men treated her as if she were a married 
woman, and would have done so if she had been even 
five years younger. Talking to her as Margaret Donne, 
in Mrs. Rushmore’s house, two years earlier, Logotheti 
would not have approached such a subject as little Ida 
Moon’s possible relation to Mr. Van Torp, because the 
Greek had been partly brought up in England and had 
been taught what one might and might not say to a 
'nice English girl.’ Margaret now reflected that since 
the day she had set foot upon the stage of the Opera 
she had apparently ceased to be a 'nice English girl’ in 
the eyes of men of the world. The profession of singing 
in public, then, presupposed that the singer was no 
longer the more or less imaginary young girl, the hot- 
house flower of the social garden, whose perfect bloom 
the merest breath of worldly knowledge must blight 
for ever. Margaret might smile at the myth, but she 
could not ignore the fact that she was already as much 
detached from it in men’s eyes as if she had entered 
the married state. The mere fact of realising that the 


CHAP. VIII 


THE PRIMADONNA 


197 


hothouse blossom was part of the social legend proved 
the change in herself. 

‘So that is the secret about the little girl/ she said at 
last. Then she started a little, as if she had made a 
discovery. ‘Good heavens!’ she exclaimed, poking the 
fire sharply. ‘ He cannot be as bad as that — even he ! ’ 

‘What do you mean?’ asked Logo the ti, surprised. 

‘No — really — it’s too awful,’ Margaret said slowly, 
to herself. ‘Besides,’ she added, ‘one has no right to 
believe an anonymous letter.’ 

‘The writer was well informed about you, at least,’ 
observed Logo the ti. ‘You say that the details are true.’ 

‘Absolutely. That makes the other thing all the more 
dreadful.’ 

‘It’s not such a frightful crime, after all,’ Logotheti 
answered with a little surprise. ‘Long before he fell in 
love with you he may have liked some one else! Such 
things may happen in every man’s life.’ 

‘That one thing — yes, no doubt. But you either 
don’t know, or you don’t realise just what all the rest 
has been, up to the death of that poor girl in the theatre 
in New York.’ 

‘He was engaged to her, was he not?’ 

‘Yes.’ 

‘I forget who she was.’ 

‘His partner’s daughter. She was called Ida Bam- 
berger.’ 

‘Ida? Like the little girl?’ 

‘Yes. Bamberger divorced his wife, and she married 
Senator Moon. Don’t you see?’ 


198 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. VIII 


‘And the girls were half-sisters — and ?’ Logo- 

theti stopped and stared. 

‘Yes.’ Margaret nodded slowly again and poked the 
fire. 

'Good heavens! 7 The Greek knew something of the 
world’s wickedness, but his jaw dropped. 'GEdipus! 7 
he ejaculated. 

'It cannot be true/ Margaret said, quite in earnest. 
'I detest him, but I cannot believe that of him. 7 

For in her mind all that she knew and that Griggs 
had told her, and that Logotheti did not know yet, 
rose up in orderly logic, and joined what was now in 
her mind, completing the whole hideous tale of wicked- 
ness that had ended in the death of Ida Bamberger, 
who had been murdered, perhaps, in desperation to 
avert a crime even more monstrous. The dying girl’s 
faint voice came back to Margaret across the ocean. 

'He did it 7 

And there was the stain on Paul Griggs’ hand; and 
there was little Ida’s face on the steamer, when she had 
looked up and had seen Van Torp’s lips moving, and 
had understood what he was saying to himself, and had 
dragged Margaret away in terror. And not least, there 
was the indescribable fear of him which Margaret felt 
when he was near her for a few minutes. 

On the other side, what was there to be said for him? 
Miss More, quiet, good, conscientious Miss More, devot- 
ing her life to the child, said that he was one of the 
kindest men living. There was Lady Maud, with her 
clear eyes, her fearless ways, and her knowledge of the 


CHAP. VIII 


THE PRIMADONNA 


199 


world and men, and she said that Van Torp was kind, 
and good to people in trouble and true to his friends. 
Lord Creedmore, the intimate friend of Margaret’s 
father, a barrister half his life, and as keen as a hawk, 
said that Mr. Van Torp was a very decent sort of man, 
and he evidently allowed his daughter to like the 
American. It was true that a scandalous tale about 
Lady Maud and the millionaire was already going from 
mouth to mouth, but Margaret did not believe it. If 
she had known that the facts were accurately told, 
whatever their meaning might be, she would have taken 
them for further evidence against the accused. As for 
Miss More, she was guided by her duty to her employer, 
or her affection for little Ida, and she seemed to be of 
the charitable sort, who think no evil; but after what 
Lord Creedmore had said, Margaret had no doubt but 
that it was Mr. Van Torp who provided for the child, 
and if she was his daughter, the reason for Senator 
Moon’s neglect of her was patent. 

Then Margaret thought of Isidore Bamberger, the 
hard-working man of business who was Van Torp’s 
right hand and figure-head, as Griggs had said, and 
who had divorced the beautiful, half-crazy mother of 
the two Idas because Van Torp had stolen her from 
him — Van Torp, his partner, and once his trusted 
friend. She remembered the other things Griggs had 
told her : how old Bamberger must surely have discovered 
that his daughter had been murdered, and that he 
meant to keep it a secret till he caught the murderer. 
Even now the detectives might be on the right scent, 


200 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. VIII 


and if he whose child had been killed, and whose wife 
had been stolen from him by the man he had once 
trusted, learnt the whole truth at last, he would not be 
easily appeased. 

‘You have had some singular offers of marriage/ said 
Logotheti in a tone of reflection. ‘You will probably 
marry a beggar some day — a nice beggar, who has 
ruined himself like a gentleman, but a beggar never- 
theless!’ 

‘I don’t know/ Margaret said carelessly. ‘Of one 
thing I am sure. I shall not marry Mr. Van Torp.’ 

Logotheti laughed softly. 

‘Remember the French proverb/ he said. ‘“Say not 
to the fountain, I will not drink of thy water.” ’ 

‘Proverbs/ returned Margaret, ‘are what Schreier- 
meyer calls stupid stuff. Fancy marrying that monster ! ’ 

‘Yes/ assented Logotheti, ‘fancy!’ 


CHAPTER IX 


Three weeks later, when the days were lengthening 
quickly and London was beginning to show its better 
side to the cross-grained people who abuse its climate, 
the gas was lighted again in the dingy rooms in Hare 
Court. No one but the old woman who came to sweep 
had visited them since Mr. Van Torp had gone into the 
country in March, after Lady Maud had been to see him 
on the evening of his arrival. 

As then, the fire was laid in the grate, but the man in 
black who sat in the shabby arm-chair had not put a 
match to the shavings, and the bright copper kettle on 
the movable hob shone coldly in the raw glare from the 
incandescent gaslight. The room was chilly, and the 
man had not taken off his black overcoat or his hat, 
which had a broad band on it. His black gloves lay on 
the table beside him. He wore patent leather boots 
with black cloth tops, and he turned in his toes as he sat. 

His aquiline features were naturally of the melan- 
cholic type, and as he stared at the fireplace his ex- 
pression was profoundly sad. He did not move for a 
long time, but suddenly he trembled, as a man does who 
feels the warning chill in a malarious country when the 
sun goes down, and two large bright tears ran down his 
lean dark cheeks and were quickly lost in his grizzled 
201 


f 


202 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. IX 


beard. Either he did not feel them, or he would not 
take the trouble to dry them, for he sat quite still and 
kept his eyes on the grate. 

Outside it was quite dark and the air was thick, so 
that the chimney-pots on the opposite roof were hardly 
visible against the gloomy sky. It was the time of year 
when spring seems very near in broad daylight, but as 
far away as in January when the sun goes down. 

Mr. Isidore Bamberger was waiting for a visitor, as 
his partner Mr. Van Torp had waited in the same place 
a month earlier, but he made no preparations for a 
cheerful meeting, and the cheap japanned tea-caddy, 
with the brown teapot and the chipped cups and saucers, 
stood undisturbed in the old-fashioned cupboard in the 
corner, while the lonely man sat before the cold fireplace 
and let the tears trickle down his cheeks as they would. 

At the double stroke of the spring door-bell, twice 
repeated, his expression changed as if he had been 
waked from a dream. He dried his cheeks roughly 
with the back of his hand, and his very heavy black 
eyebrows were drawn down and together, as if the ten- 
sion of the man’s whole nature had been relaxed and 
was now suddenly restored. The look of sadness hard- 
ened to an expression that was melancholy still, but 
grim and unforgiving, and the grizzled beard, clipped 
rather close at the sides, betrayed the angles of the 
strong jaw as he set his teeth and rose to let in his visitor. 
He was round-shouldered and slightly bow-legged when 
he stood up; he was heavily and clumsily built, but he 
was evidently strong. 


CHAP. IX 


THE PRIMADONNA 


203 


He went out into the dark entry and opened the 
door, and a moment later he came back with Mr. Feist, 
the man with the unhealthy complexion whom Mar- 
garet had seen at the Turkish Embassy. Isidore Bam- 
berger sat down in the easy-chair again without cere- 
mony, leaving his guest to bring up a straight-backed 
chair for himself. 

Mr. Feist was evidently in a very nervous condition. 
His hand shook perceptibly as he mopped his forehead 
after sitting down, and he moved his chair uneasily 
twice because the incandescent light irritated his eyes. 
He did not wait for Bamberger to question him, however. 

‘It's all right/ he said, ‘but he doesn’t care to take 
steps till after this season is over. He says the same 
thing will happen again to a dead certainty, and that 
the more evidence he has the surer he’ll be of the decree. 
I think he’s afraid Van Torp has some explanation up 
his sleeve that will swing things the other way.’ 

‘Didn’t he catch her here?’ asked the elder man, 
evidently annoyed. ‘Didn’t he find the money on this 
table in an envelope addressed to her? Didn’t he have 
two witnesses with him? Or is all that an invention?’ 

‘It happened just so. But he’s afraid there’s some 
explanation ’ 

‘Feist,’ said Isidore Bamberger slowly, ‘find out what 
explanation the man’s afraid of, pretty quick, or I’ll get 
somebody who will. It’s my belief that he’s just a 
common coward, who takes money from his wife and 
doesn’t care how she gets it. I suppose she refused to 
pay one day, so he strengthened his position by catching 


204 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. IX 


her; but he doesn’t want to divorce the goose that lays 
the golden egg as long as he’s short of cash. That’s 
about the measure of it, you may depend.’ 

‘She may be a goose/ answered Feist, ‘but she’s a 
wild one, and she’ll lead us a chase too. She’s up to all 
sorts of games, I’ve ascertained. She goes out of the 
house at all hours and comes home when she’s ready, and 
it isn’t to meet your friend either, for he’s not been in 
London again since he landed.’ 

‘Then who else is it?’ asked Bamberger. 

Feist smiled in a sickly way. 

‘Don’t know,’ he said. ‘Can’t find out.’ 

‘I don’t like people who don’t know and can’t find 
out,’ answered the other. ‘I’m in a hurry, I tell jmu. 
I’m employing you, and paying you a good salary, and 
taking a great deal of trouble to have you pushed with 
letters of introduction where you can see her, and now 
you come here and tell me you don’t know and you 
can’t find out. It won’t do, Feist. You’re no better 
than you used to be when you were my secretary last 
year. You’re a pretty bright young fellow when you 
don’t drink, but when you do you’re about as useful as 
a painted clock — and even a painted clock is right 
twice in twenty-four hours. It’s more than you are. 
The only good thing about you is that you can hold 
your tongue, drunk or sober. I admit that.’ 

Having relieved himself of this plain opinion Isidore 
Bamberger waited to hear what Feist had to say, keep- 
ing his eyes fixed on the unhealthy face. 

‘I’ve not been drinking lately, anyhow,’ he answered. 


CHAP. IX 


THE PRIMADONNA 


205 


'and I’ll tell you one thing, Mr. Bamberger, and that 
is, that I’m just as anxious as you can be to see this 
thing through, every bit.’ 

'Well, then, don’t waste time! I don’t care a cent 
about the divorce, except that it will bring the whole 
affair into publicity. At soon as all the papers are down 
on him, I’ll start in on the real thing. I shall be ready 
by that time. I want public opinion on both sides of 
the ocean to run strong against him, as it ought to, and 
it’s just that it should. If I don’t manage that, he may 
get off in the end in spite of your evidence.’ 

'Look here, Mr. Bamberger,’ said Feist, waking up, 
'if you want my evidence, don’t talk of dropping me 
as you did just now, or you won’t get it, do you under- 
stand? You’ve paid me the compliment of telling me 
that I can hold my tongue. All right. But it won’t 
suit you if I hold my tongue in the witness-box, will it? 
That’s all, Mr. Bamberger. I’ve nothing more to say 
about that.’ 

There was a sudden vehemence in the young man’s 
tone which portrayed that in spite of his broken nerves 
he could still be violent. But Isidore Bamberger was 
not the man to be brow-beaten by any one he employed. 
He almost smiled when Feist stopped speaking. 

'That’s all right,’ he said half good-naturedly and 
half contemptuously. 'We understand each other. 
That’s all right.’ 

'I hope it is,’ Feist answered in a dogged way. 'I 
only wanted you to know.’ 

'Well, I do, since you’ve told me. But you needn’t 


206 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. IX 


get excited like that. It’s just as well you gave up 
studying medicine and took to business, Feist, for you 
haven’t got what they call a pleasant bedside manner.’ 

Mr. Feist had once been a medical student, but had 
given up the profession on inheriting a sum of money 
with which he at once began to speculate. After vari- 
ous vicissitudes he had become Mr. Bamberger’s private 
secretary, and had held that position some time in spite 
of his one failing, because he had certain qualities which 
made him invaluable to his employer until his nerves 
began to give away. One of those qualities was un- 
doubtedly his power of holding his tongue even when 
under the influence of drink; another was his really 
extraordinary memory for details, and especially for 
letters he had written under dictation, and for conver- 
sations he had heard. He was skilful, too, in many 
ways when in full possession of his faculties; but though 
Isidore Bamberger used him, he despised him profoundly, 
as he despised every man who preferred present indul- 
gence to future profit. 

Feist lit a cigarette and blew a vast cloud of smoke 
round him, but made no answer to his employer’s last 
observation. 

'Now this is what I want you to do,’ said the latter. 
'Go to this Count Leven and tell him it’s a cash trans- 
action or nothing, and that he runs no risk. Find out 
what he’ll .really take, but don’t come talking to me 
about five thousand pounds or anything of that kind, 
for that’s ridiculous. Tell him that if proceedings are 
not begun by the first of May his wife won’t get any 


CHAP. IX 


THE PRIMADONMA 


207 


more money from Van Torp, and he won’t get any more 
from his wife. Use any other argument that strikes 
you. That’s your business, because that’s what I pay 
you for. What I want is the result, and that’s justice 
and no more, and I don’t care anything about the means. 
Find them and I’ll pay. If you can’t find them I’ll 
pay somebody who can, and if nobody can I’ll go to the 
end without. Do you understand?’ 

'Oh, I understand right enough,’ answered Feist, 
with his bad smile. 'If I can hit on the right scheme I 
won’t ask you anything extra for it, Mr. Bamberger! 
By the bye, I wrote you I met Cordova, the Primadonna, 
at the Turkish Embassy, didn’t I? She hates him as 
much as the other woman likes him, yet she and the 
other have struck up a friendship. I daresay I shall get 
something out of that too.’ 

'Why does Cordova hate him?’ asked Bamberger. 

'Don’t quite know. Thought perhaps you might.’ 

'No.’ 

'He was attentive to her last winter,’ Feist said. 
'That’s all I know for certain. He’s a brutal sort of 
man, and maybe he offended her somehow.’ 

'Well,’ returned Isidore Bamberger, 'maybe; but 
singers aren’t often offended by men who have money. 
At least, I’ve always understood so, though I don’t 
know much about that side of life myself.’ 

'It would be just one thing more to break his char- 
acter if Cordova would say something against him,’ 
suggested Feist. 'Her popularity is something tre- 
mendous, and people always believe a woman who says 


208 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. IX 


that a man has insulted her. In those things the bare 
word of a pretty lady who’s no better than she should 
be is worth more than an honest man’s character for 
thirty years.’ 

‘ That’s so/ said Bamberger, looking at him atten- 
tively. ‘That’s quite true. Whatever you are, Feist, 
you’re no fool. We may as well have the pretty lady’s 
bare word, anyway.’ 

‘If you approve, I’m nearly sure I can get it,’ Feist 
answered. ‘At least, I can get a statement which she 
won’t deny if it’s published in the right way. I can 
furnish the materials for an article on her that’s sure to 
please her — born lady, never a word against her, highly 
connected, unassailable private life, such a contrast to 
several other celebrities on the stage, immensely chari- 
table, half American, half English — every bit of that 
all helps, you see — and then an anecdote or two thrown 
in, and just the bare facts about her having had to escape 
in a hurry from a prominent millionaire in a New York 
hotel — fairly ran for her life and turned the key against 
him. Give his name if you like. If he brings action 
for libel, you can subpoena Cordova herself. She’ll 
swear to it if it’s true, and then you can unmask your 
big guns and let him have it hot.’ 

‘No doubt, no doubt. But how do you propose to find 
out if it is true?’ 

‘Well, I’ll see; but it will answer almost as well if it’s 
not true,’ said Feist cynically. ‘People always believe 
those things.’ 

‘It’s only a detail,’ said Bamberger, ‘but it’s worth 


CHAP. IX 


THE PRIMADONNA 


209 


something, and if we can make this man Leven begin 
a suit against his wife, everything that’s against Van 
Torp will be against her too. That’s not justice, Feist, 
but it’s fact. A woman gets considerably less pity for 
making mistakes with a blackguard than for liking an 
honest man too much, Feist.’ 

Mr. Bamberger, who had divorced his own wife, de- 
livered these opinions thoughtfully, and, though she 
had made no defence, he might be supposed to know 
what he was talking about. 

Presently he dismissed his visitor with final injunc- 
tions to lose no time, and to ‘find out’ if Lady Maud was 
interested in any one besides Van Torp, and if not, what 
was at the root of her eccentric hours. 

Mr. Feist went away, apparently prepared to obey 
his employer with all the energy he possessed. He went 
down the dimly-lighted stairs quickly, but he glanced 
nervously upwards, as if he fancied that Isidore Bam- 
berger might have silently opened the door again to 
look over the banister and watch him from above. In 
the dark entry below he paused a moment, and took a 
satisfactory pull at a stout flask before going out into 
the yellowish gloom that had settled on Hare Court. 

When he was in the narrow alley he stopped again 
and laughed, without making any sound, so heartily 
that he had to stand still till the fit passed; and the 
expression of his unhealthy face just then would have 
disturbed even Mr. Bamberger, who knew him well. 

But Mr. Bamberger was sitting in the easy-chair before 
the fireplace, and his eyes were fixed on the bright point 


210 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. IX 


at which the shiny copper kettle reflected the gaslight. 
His head had fallen slightly forward, so that his bearded 
chin was out of sight below the collar of his overcoat, 
leaving his eagle nose and piercing eyes above it. He was 
like a bird of prey looking down over the edge of its nest. 
He had not taken off his hat for Mr. Feist, and it was 
pushed back from his bony forehead now, giving his 
face a look that would have been half comic if it had 
not been almost terrifying: a tall hat set on a skull, a 
little back or on one side, produces just such an effect. 

There was no moisture in the keen eyes now. In the 
bright spot on the copper kettle they saw the vision of 
the end towards which he was striving with all his 
strength, and all his heart, and all his wealth. It was 
a grim little picture, and the chief figure in it was a 
thick-set man who had a queer cap drawn down over 
his face and his hands tied; and the eyes that saw it were 
sure that under the cap there were the stony features of a 
man who had stolen his friend’s wife and killed his friend’s 
daughter, and was going to die for what he had done. 

Then Isidore Bamberger’s right hand disappeared inside 
the breast of his coat and closed lovingly upon a full 
pocket-book; but there was only a little money in it, only a 
few banknotes folded flat against a thick package of sheets 
of notepaper all covered with clear, close writing, some in 
ink and some in pencil ; and if what was written there was 
all true, it was enough to hang Mr. Rufus Van Torp. 

There were other matters, too, not written there, but 
carefully entered in the memory of the injured man. 
There was the story of his marriage with a beautiful, 


CHAP. IX 


THE PRIMADONNA 


211 


penniless girl, not of his own faith, whom he had taken 
in the face of strong opposition from his family. She 
had been an exquisite creature, fair and ethereal, as 
degenerates sometimes are; she had cynically married 
him for his money, deceiving him easily enough, for he 
was willing to be blinded; but differences had soon arisen 
between them, and had turned to open quarrelling, and 
Mr. Van Torp had taken it upon himself to defend her 
and to reconcile them, using the unlimited power his 
position gave him over his partner to force the latter 
to submit to his wife’s temper and caprice, as the only 
alternative to ruin. Her friendship for Van Torp grew 
stronger, till they spent many hours of every day to- 
gether, while her husband saw little of her, though he 
was never altogether estranged from her so long as they 
lived under one roof. 

But the time came at last when Bamberger had power 
too, and Van Torp could no longer hold him in check 
with a threat that had become vain; for he was more 
than indispensable, he was a part of the Nickel Trust, 
he was the figure-head of the ship, and could not be 
discarded at will, to be replaced by another. 

As soon as he was sure of this and felt free to act, 
Isidore Bamberger divorced his wife, in a State where 
slight grounds are sufficient. For the sake of the Nickel 
Trust Van Torp’s name was not mentioned. Mrs. Bam- 
berger made no defence, the affair was settled almost 
privately, and Bamberger was convinced that she would 
soon marry Van Torp. Instead, six weeks had not 
passed before she married Senator Moon, a man whom 


212 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. IX 


her husband had supposed she scarcely knew, and to 
Bamberger’s amazement Van Tor p’s temper was not 
at all disturbed by the marriage. He acted as if he had 
expected it, and though he hardly ever saw her after 
that time, he exchanged letters with her during nearly 
two years. 

Bamberger’s little daughter Ida had never been happy 
with her beautiful mother, who had alternately spoilt 
her and vented her temper on her, according to the 
caprice of the moment. At the time of the divorce 
the child had been only ten years old ; and as Bamberger 
was very kind to her and was of an even disposition, 
though never very cheerful, she had grown up to be 
extremely fond of him. She never guessed that he did 
not love her in return, for though he was cynical enough 
in matters of business, he was just according to his 
lights, and he would not let her know that everything 
about her recalled her mother, from her hair to her tone 
of voice, her growing caprices, and her silly fits of temper. 
He could not believe in the affection of a daughter who 
constantly reminded him of the hell in which he had 
lived for years. If what Van Torp told Lady Maud of 
his own pretended engagement to Ida was true, it was 
explicable only on that ground, so far as her father was 
concerned. Bamberger felt no affection for his daughter, 
and saw no reason why she should not be used as an 
instrument, with her own consent, for consolidating the 
position of the Nickel Trust. 

As for the former Mrs. Bamberger, afterwards Mrs. 
Moon, she had gone to Europe in the autumn, not many 


CHAP. IX 


THE PRIMADONNA 


213 


months after her marriage, leaving the Senator in Wash- 
ington, and had returned after nearly a year’s absence, 
bringing her husband a fine little girl, whom she had 
christened Ida, like her first child, without consulting 
him. It soon became apparent that the baby was 
totally deaf; and not very long after this discovery, 
Mrs. Moon began to show signs of not being quite sane. 
Three years later she was altogether out of her mind, 
and as soon as this was clear the child was sent to the 
East to be taught. The rest has already been told. 
Bamberger, of course, had never seen little Ida, and had 
perhaps never heard of her existence, and Senator Moon 
did not see her again before he died. 

Bamberger had not loved his own daughter in her 
life, but since her tragic death she had grown dear to 
him in memory, and he reproached himself unjustly 
with having been cold and unkind to her. Below the 
surface of his money-loving nature there was still the 
deep and unsatisfied sentiment to which his wife had 
first appealed, and by playing on which she had deceived 
him into marrying her. Her treatment of him had not 
killed it, and the memory of his fair young daughter 
now stirred it again. He accused himself of having 
misunderstood her. What had been unreal and super- 
ficial in her mother had perhaps been true and deep in 
her. He knew that she had loved him; he knew it now, 
and it was the recollection of that one being who had 
been devoted to him for himself, since he had been a 
grown man, that sometimes brought the tears from his 
eyes when he was alone. It would have been a com- 


214 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. IX 


fort, now, to have loved her in return while she lived, 
and to have trusted in her love then, instead of having 
been tormented by the belief that she was as false as her 
mother had been. 

But he had been disappointed of his heart’s desire; 
for, strange as it may seem to those who have not known 
such men as Isidore Bamberger, his nature was pro- 
foundly domestic, and the ideal of his youth had been 
to grow old in his own home, with a loving wife at his 
side, surrounded by children and grandchildren who 
loved both himself and her. Next to that, he had 
desired wealth and the power money gives; but that had 
been first, until the hope of it was gone. Looking back 
now, he was sure that it had all been destroyed from 
root to branch, the hope and the possibility, and even 
the memory that might have still comforted him, by 
Rufus Van Torp, upon whom he prayed that he might 
live to be revenged. He sought no secret vengeance, 
either, no pitfall of ruin dug in the dark for the man’s 
untimely destruction; all was to be in broad daylight, 
by the evidence of facts, under the verdict of justice, 
and at the hands of the law itself. 

It had not been very hard to get what he needed, for 
his former secretary, Mr. Feist, had worked with as 
much industry and intelligence as if the case had been 
his own, and in spite of the vice that was killing him 
had shown a wonderful power of holding his tongue. It 
is quite certain that up to the day when Feist called 
on his employer in Hare Court, Mr. Van Torp believed 
himself perfectly safe. 


CHAPTER X 


A fortnight later Count Leven informed his wife 
that he was going home on a short leave, but that she 
might stay in London if she pleased. An aunt of his 
had died in Warsaw, he said, leaving him a small property, 
and in spite of the disturbed state of his own country 
it was necessary that he should go and take possession 
of the land without delay. 

Lady Maud did not believe a word of what he said, 
until it became apparent that he had the cash necessary 
for his journey without borrowing of her, as he fre- 
quently tried to do, with varying success. She smiled 
calmly as she bade him good-bye and wished him a 
pleasant journey; he made a magnificent show of kiss- 
ing her hand at parting, and waved his hat to the 
window when he was outside the house, before getting 
into the four-wheeler, on the roof of which his volu- 
minous luggage made a rather unsafe pyramid. She 
was not at the window, and he knew it; but other 
people might be watching him from theirs, and the ser- 
vant stood at the open door. It was always worth 
while, in Count Leven’s opinion, to make an ‘ effect ’ if 
one got a chance. 

Three days later Lady Maud received a document 
from the Russian Embassy informing her that her 
215 


216 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. X 


husband had brought an action to obtain a divorce 
from her in the Ecclesiastical Court of the Patriarch of 
Constantinople, on the ground of her undue intimacy with 
Rufus Van Torp of New York, as proved by the attested 
depositions of detectives. She was further informed that 
unless she appeared in person or by proxy before the 
Patriarch of Constantinople within one month of the date 
of the present notice, to defend herself against the charges 
made by her husband, judgment would go by default, 
and the divorce would be pronounced. 

At first Lady Maud imagined this extraordinary 
document to be a stupid practical joke, invented by 
some half-fledged cousin to tease her. She had a good 
many cousins, among whom were several beardless 
undergraduates and callow subalterns in smart regi- 
ments, who would think it no end of fun to scare 1 Cousin 
Maud.’ There was no mistaking the official paper on 
which the document was written, and it bore the seal 
of the Chancery of the Russian Embassy; but in Lady 
Maud’s opinion the mention of the Patriarch of Con- 
stantinople stamped it as an egregious hoax. 

On reflection, however, she decided that it must have 
been perpetrated by some one in the Embassy for the 
express purpose of annoying her, since no outsider 
could have got at the seal, even if he could have ob- 
tained possession of the paper and envelope. As soon 
as this view presented itself, she determined to ascertain 
the truth directly, and to bring down the ambassadorial 
wrath on the offender. 

Accordingly she took the paper to the Russian clerk 


CHAP. X 


THE PRIMADONNA 


217 


who was in charge of the Chancery, and inquired who 
had dared to concoct such a paper and to send it 
to her. 

To her stupefaction, the man smiled politely and in- 
formed her that the document was genuine. What had 
the Patriarch to do with it? That was very simple. 
Had she not been married to a Russian subject by the 
Greek rite in Paris? Certainly. Very well. All mar- 
riages of Russian subjects out of their own country 
took place under the authority of the Patriarch of Con- 
stantinople, and all suits for divorcing persons thus 
married came under his jurisdiction. That was all. 
It was such a simple matter that every Russian knew 
all about it. The clerk asked if he could be of service 
to her. He had been stationed in Constantinople, and 
knew just what to do; and, moreover, he had a friend 
at the Chancery there, who would take charge of the 
case if the Countess desired it. 

Lady Maud thanked him coldly, replaced the docu- 
ment in its envelope, and left the Embassy with the 
intention of never setting foot in it again. 

She understood why Leven had suddenly lost an aunt 
of whom she had never heard, and had got out of the 
way on pretence of an imaginary inheritance. The 
dates showed plainly that the move had been prepared 
before he left, and that he had started when the notice of 
the suit was about to be sent to her. The only explana- 
tion that occurred to her was that her husband had found 
some very rich woman who was willing to marry him if 
he could free himself; and this seemed likely enough. 


218 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP, x 


She hesitated as to how she should act. Her first 
impulse was to go to her father, who was a lawyer and 
would give her good advice, but a moment’s thought 
showed her that it would be a mistake to go to him. 
Being no longer immobilised by a sprained ankle, Lord 
Creedmore would probably leave England instantly in 
pursuit of Leven himself, and no one could tell what 
the consequences might be if he caught him; they would 
certainly be violent, and they might be disastrous. 

Then Lady Maud thought of telegraphing to Mr. Van 
Torp to come to town to see her about an urgent matter; 
but she decided against that course too. Whatever her 
relations were with the American financier this was not 
the moment to call attention to them. She would write 
to him, and in order to see him conveniently she would 
suggest to her father to have a week-end house party 
in the country, and to ask his neighbour over from 
Oxley Paddox. Nobody but Mr. Van Torp and the 
post-office called the place Torp Towers. 

She had taken a hansom to the Embassy, but she 
walked back to Charles Street because she was angry, 
and she considered nothing so good for a rage as a stiff 
walk. By the time she reached her own door she was 
as cool as ever, and her clear eyes looked upon the 
wicked world with their accustomed calm. 

As she laid her hand on the door-bell, a smart 
brougham drove up quickly and stopped close to the 
pavement, and as she turned her head Margaret was 
letting herself out, before the footman could get round 
from the other side to open the door of the carriage. 


CHAP. X 


THE PRIMADONNA 


219 


‘May I come in?’ asked the singer anxiously, and 
Lady Maud saw that she seemed much disturbed, and 
had a newspaper in her hand. ‘I’m so glad I just 
caught you/ Margaret added, as the door opened. 

They went in tpgether. The house was very small 
and narrow, and Lady Maud led the way into a little 
sitting-room on the right of the hall, and shut the door. 

‘Is it true?’ Margaret asked as soon as they were 
alone. 

‘What?’ 

‘About your divorce ’ 

Lady Maud smiled rather contemptuously. 

‘Is it already in the papers?’ she asked, glancing at 
the one Margaret had brought. ‘I only heard of it my- 
self an hour ago ! ’ 

‘Then it’s really true! There’s a horrid article about 
it ’ 

Margaret was evidently much more disturbed than 
her friend, who sat down in a careless attitude and 
smiled at her. 

‘It had to come some day. And besides,’ added 
Lady Maud, ‘I don’t care!’ 

‘There’s something about me too,’ answered Mar- 
garet, ‘and I cannot help caring.’ 

‘About you?’ 

‘Me and Mr. Van Torp — the article is written by 
some one who hates him — that’s clear! — and you 
know I don’t like him; but that’s no reason why I should 
be dragged in.’ 

She was rather incoherent, and Lady Maud took the 


220 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. X 


paper from her hand quietly, and found the article at 
once. It was as ' horrid ’ as the Primadonna said it was. 
No names were given in full, but there could not be the 
slightest mistake about the persons referred to, who 
were all clearly labelled by bits of characteristic descrip- 
tion. It was all in the ponderously airy form of one of 
those more or less true stories of which some modern 
weeklies seem to have an inexhaustible supply, but it 
was a particularly vicious specimen of its class so far as 
Mr. Van Torp was concerned. His life was torn up by 
the roots and mercilessly pulled to pieces, and he was 
shown to the public as a Leicester Square Lovelace or a 
Bowery Don Juan. His baleful career was traced from 
his supposed affair with Mrs. Isidore Bamberger and 
her divorce to the scene at Margaret’s hotel in New 
York, and from that to the occasion of his being caught 
with Lady Maud in Hare Court by a justly angry hus- 
band; and there was, moreover, a pretty plain allusion 
to little Ida Moon. 

Lady Maud read the article quickly, but without 
betraying any emotion. When she had finished she 
raised her eyebrows a very little, and gave the paper 
back to Margaret. 

'It is rather nasty/ she observed quietly, as if she 
were speaking of the weather. 

'It’s utterly disgusting,’ Margaret answered with 
emphasis. 'What shall you do?’ 

'I really don’t know. Why should I do anything? 
Your position is different, for you can write to the papers 
and deny all that concerns you if you like — though I’m 


chap, x the primadonna 221 

sure I don’t know why you should care. It’s not to 
your discredit.’ 

'I could not very well deny it/ said the Primadonna 
thoughtfully. Almost before the words had left her 
lips she was sorry she had spoken. 

‘Does it happen to be true?’ asked Lady Maud, with 
an encouraging smile. 

‘Well, since you ask me — yes.’ Margaret felt un- 
comfortable. 

‘Oh, I thought it might be,’ answered Lady Maud. 
‘With all his good qualities he has a very rough side. 
The story about me is perfectly true too.’ 

Margaret was amazed at her friend’s quiet cynicism. 

‘Not that about the — the envelope on the table ’ 

She stopped short. 

‘Oh yes! There were four thousand one hundred 
pounds in it. My husband counted the notes.’ 

The singer leaned back in her chair and stared in un- 
concealed surprise, wondering how in the world she 
could have been so completely mistaken in her judg- 
ment of a friend who had seemed to her the best type 
of an honest and fearless Englishwoman. Margaret 
Donne had not been brought up in the gay world; she 
had, however, seen some aspects of it since she had been 
a successful singer, and she did not exaggerate its vir- 
tues; but somehow Lady Maud had seemed to be above 
it, while living in it, and Margaret would have put her 
hand into the fire for the daughter of her father’s old 
friend, who now acknowledged without a blush that she 
had taken four thousand pounds from Rufus Van Torp. 


222 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. X 


‘I suppose it would go against me even in an English 
court/ said Lady Maud in a tone of reflection. ‘It looks 
so badly to take money, you know, doesn't it? But if 
I must be divorced, it really strikes me as delightfully 
original to have it done by the Patriarch of Constanti- 
nople! Doesn't it, my dear?' 

‘It's not usual, certainly,' said Margaret gravely. 

She was puzzled by the other’s attitude, and some- 
what horrified. 

‘I suppose you think I'm a very odd sort of person,’ 
said Lady Maud, ‘because I don't mind so much as 
most women might. You see, I never really cared for 
Leven, though if I had not thought I had a fancy for 
him I wouldn't have married him. My people were 
quite against it. The truth is, I couldn't have the 
husband I wanted, and as I did not mean to break my 
heart about it, I married, as so many girls do. That's 
my little story! It's not long, is it?' 

She laughed, but she very rarely did that, even when 
she was amused, and now Margaret's quick ear detected 
here and there in the sweet ripple a note that did not 
ring quite like the rest. The intonation was not false 
or artificial, but only sad and regretful, as genuine 
laughter should not be. Margaret looked at her, still 
profoundly mystified, and still drawn to her by natural 
sympathy, though horrified almost to disgust at what 
seemed her brutal cynicism. 

‘May I ask one question? We've grown to be such 
good friends that perhaps you won't mind.' 

Lady Maud nodded. 


CHAP. X 


THE PRIMADONNA 


223 


'Of course/ she said. 'Ask me anything you please. 
I’ll answer if I can.’ 

'You said that you could not marry the man you 
liked. Was he — Mr. Van Torp?’ 

Lady Maud was not prepared for the question. 

'Mr. Van Torp?’ she repeated slowly. 'Oh dear no! 
Certainly not! What an extraordinary idea!’ She 
gazed into Margaret’s eyes with a look of inquiry, until 
the truth suddenly dawned upon her. 'Oh, I see!’ she 
cried. 'How awfully funny!’ 

There was no minor note of sadness or regret in her 
rippling laughter now. It was so exquisitely true and 
musical that the great soprano listened to it with keen 
delight, and wondered whether she herself could pro- 
duce a sound half so delicious. 

'No, my dear,’ said Lady Maud, as her mirth sub- 
sided. 'I never was in love with Mr. Van Torp. But 
it really is awfully funny that you should have thought 
so! No wonder you looked grave when I told you that 
I was really found in his rooms! We are the greatest 
friends, and no man was ever kinder to a woman than 
he has been to me for the last two years. But that’s all. 
Did you really think the money was meant for me? 
That wasn’t quite nice of you, was it?’ 

The bright smile was still on her face as she spoke 
the last words, for her nature was far too big to be really 
hurt; but the little rebuke went home sharply, and 
Margaret felt unreasonably ashamed of herself, con- 
sidering that Lady Maud had not taken the slightest 
pains to explain the truth to her. 


224 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. X 


‘I'm so sorry/ she said contritely. ‘Fm dreadfully 
sorry. It was abominably stupid of me!’ 

‘Oh no. It was quite natural. This is not a pretty 
world, and there’s no reason why you should think me 
better than lots of other women. And besides, I don’t 
care!’ 

‘But surely you won’t let your husband get a divorce 
for such a reason as that without making a defence?’ 

‘Before the Patriarch of Constantinople?’ Lady 
Maud evidently thought the idea very amusing. ‘It 
sounds like a comic opera,’ she added. ‘Why should 
I defend myself? I shall be glad to be free; and as for 
the story, the people who like me will not believe any 
harm of me, and the people who don’t like me may 
believe what they please. But I’m very glad you 
showed me that article, disgusting as it is.’ 

‘I was beginning to be sorry I had brought it.’ 

‘No. You did me a service, for I had no idea that 
any one was going to take advantage of my divorce to 
make a cowardly attack on my friend — I mean Mr. Van 
Torp. I shall certainly not make any defence before 
the Patriarch, but I shall make a statement which will 
go to the right people, saying that I met Mr. Van Torp 
in a lawyer’s chambers in the Temple, that is, in a place 
of business, and about a matter of business, and that 
there was no secret about it, because my husband’s 
servant called the cab that took me there, and gave 
the cabman the address. I often do go out without 
telling any one, and I let myself in with a latch-key 
when I come home, but on that particular occasion I 


CHAP. X 


THE PRIMADONNA 


225 


did neither. Will you say that if you hear me talked 
about? ’ 

‘Of course I will/ 

Nevertheless, Margaret thought that Lady Maud 
might have given her a little information about the 
‘matter of business ' which had involved such a large 
sum of money, and had produced such important con- 
sequences. 


Q 


CHAPTER XI 


Mr. Van Torp was walking slowly down the Elm Walk 
in the park at Oxley Paddox. The ancient trees were 
not in full leaf yet, but there were myriads of tiny green 
feather points all over the rough brown branches and 
the smoother twigs, and their soft colour tinted the 
luminous spring air. High overhead all sorts and con- 
ditions of little birds were chirping and trilling and 
chattering together and by turns, and on the ground the 
sparrows were excessively busy and talkative, while the 
squirrels made wild dashes across the open, and stopped 
suddenly to sit bolt upright and look about them, and 
then dashed on again. 

Little Ida walked beside the millionaire in silence, 
trustfully holding one of his hands, and as she watched 
the sparrows she tried to make out what sort of sound 
they could be making when they hopped forward and 
opened their bills so wide that she could distinctly see 
their little tongues. Mr. Van Torp’s other hand held a 
newspaper, and he was reading the article about him- 
self which Margaret had shown to Lady Maud. He 
did not take that particular paper, but a marked copy 
had been sent to him, and in due course had been ironed 
and laid on the breakfast-table with those that came 
regularly. The article was marked in red pencil. 

226 


CHAP. XI 


THE PRIMADONNA 


227 


He read it slowly with a perfectly blank expression, 
as if it concerned some one he did not know. Once only, 
when he came upon the allusion to the little girl, his 
eyes left the page and glanced quietly down at the large 
red felt hat with its knot of ribbands that moved along 
beside him, and hid all the child’s face except the deli- 
cate chin and the corner of the pathetic little mouth. 
She did not know that he looked down at her, for she 
was intent on the sparrows, and he went back to the 
article and read to the end. 

Then, in order to fold the paper, he gently let go of 
Ida’s hand, and she looked up into his face. He did 
not speak, but his lips moved a little as he doubled 
the sheet to put it into his pocket; and instantly the 
child’s expression changed, and she looked hurt and 
frightened, and stretched up her hand quickly to cover 
his mouth, as if to hide the words his lips were silently 
forming. 

' Please, please!’ she said, in her slightly monotonous 
voice. ' You promised me you wouldn’t any more ! ’ 

'Quite right, my dear,’ answered Mr. Van Torp, smil- 
ing, 'and I apologise. You must make me pay a for- 
feit every time I do it. What shall the forfeit be? 
Chocolates? ’ 

She watched his lips, and understood as well as if she 
had heard. 

'No,’ she answered demurely. 'You mustn’t laugh. 
When I’ve done anything wicked and am sorry, I say 
the little prayer Miss More taught me. Perhaps you’d 
better learn it too.’ 


228 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XI 


'If you said it for me/ suggested Mr. Van Torp gravely, 
'it would be more likely to work.’ 

'Oh no! That wouldn’t do at all! You must say 
it for yourself. I’ll teach it to you if you like. Shall 
I?’ 

'What must I say?’ asked the financier. 

'Well, it’s made up for me, you see, and besides, I’ve 
shortened it a wee bit. What I say is: "Dear God, 
please forgive me this time, and make me never want 
to do it again. Amen.” Can you remember that, do 
you think?’ 

'I think I could,’ said Mr. Van Torp. 'Please forgive 
me and make me never do it again.’ 

'Never want to do it again,’ corrected little Ida with 
emphasis. 'You must try not even to want to say 
dreadful things. And then you must say "Amen.” 
That’s important.’ 

'Amen/ repeated the millionaire. 

At this juncture the discordant toot of an approach- 
ing motor-car was heard above the singing of the birds. 
Mr. Van Torp turned his head quickly in the direction 
of the sound, and at the same time instinctively led 
the little girl towards one side of the road. She appar- 
ently understood, for she asked no questions. There 
was a turn in the drive a couple of hundred yards away, 
where the Elm Walk ended, and an instant later an 
enormous white motor-car whizzed into sight, rushed 
furiously towards the two, and was brought to a stand- 
still in an uncommonly short time, close beside them. 
An active man, in the usual driver’s disguise of the mod- 


CHAP. XI 


THE PRIMADONNA 


229 


ern motorist, jumped down, and at the same instant 
pushed his goggles up over the visor of his cap and 
loosened the collar of his wide coat, displaying the face 
of Constantine Logotheti. 

‘Oh, it’s you, is it?’ Mr. Van Torp asked the wholly 
superfluous question in a displeased tone. ‘How did 
you get in? I’ve given particular orders to let in no 
automobiles.’ 

‘I always get in everywhere,’ answered Logotheti 
coolly. ‘May I see you alone for a few minutes?’ 

‘If it’s business, you’d better see Mr. Bamberger,’ 
said Van Torp. ‘I came here for a rest. Mr. Bam- 
berger has come over for a few days. You’ll find him 
at his chambers in Hare Court.’ 

‘No,’ returned Logotheti, ‘it’s a private matter. I 
shall not keep you long.’ 

‘Then run us up to the house in your new go-cart.’ 

Mr. Van Torp lifted little Ida into the motor as if she 
had been a rather fragile china doll instead of a girl 
nine years old and quite able to get up alone, and before 
she could sit down he was beside her. Logotheti jumped 
up beside the chauffeur and the machine ran up the 
drive at breakneck speed. Two minutes later they all 
got out more than a mile farther on, at the door of the 
big old house. Ida ran away to find Miss More; the two 
men entered together, and went into the study. 

The room had been built in the time of Edward Sixth, 
had been decorated afresh under Charles the Second, 
the furniture was of the time of Queen Anne, and the 
carpet was a modern Turkish one, woven in colours as 


230 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XI 


fresh as paint to fit the room, and as thick as a down 
quilt: it was the sort of carpet which has come into 
existence with the modern hotel. 

‘Well?’ Mr. Van Torp uttered the monosyllable as 
he sat down in his own chair and pointed to a much less 
comfortable one, which Logotheti took. 

‘ There’s an article about you/ said the latter, pro- 
ducing a paper. 

'I've read it/ answered Mr. Van Torp in a tone of 
stony indifference. 

‘I thought that was likely. Do you take the paper ?’ 

‘No. Do you?’ 

‘No, it was sent to me/ Logotheti answered. ‘Did 
you happen to glance at the address on the wrapper of 
the one that came to you?’ 

‘My valet opens all the papers and irons them.’ 

Mr. Van Torp looked very bored as he said this, and 
he stared stonily at the pink and green waistcoat which 
his visitor’s unfastened coat exposed to view. Hun- 
dreds of little gold beads were sewn upon it at the inter- 
sections of the pattern. It was a marvellous creation. 

‘I had seen the handwriting on the one addressed 
to me before/ Logotheti said. 

‘Oh, you had, had you?’ 

Mr. Van Torp asked the question in a dull tone with- 
out the slightest apparent interest in the answer. 

‘Yes,’ Logotheti replied, not paying any attention 
to his host’s indifference. ‘I received an anonymous 
letter last winter, and the writing of the address was 
the same.’ 


CHAP. XI 


THE PRIMADONNA 


231 


‘It was, was it?’ 

The millionaire’s tone did not change in the least, 
and he continued to admire the waistcoat. His manner 
might have disconcerted a person of less assurance than 
the Greek, but in the matter of nerves the two financiers 
were well matched. 

‘Yes/ Logo the ti answered, ‘and the anonymous letter 
was about you, and contained some of the stories that 
are printed in this article.’ 

‘Oh, it did, did it?’ 

‘Yes. There was an account of your interview with 
the Primadonna at a hotel in New York. I remember 
that particularly well.’ 

‘Oh, you do, do you?’ 

‘Yes. The identity of the handwriting and the 
similarity of the wording make it look as if the article 
and the letter had been written by the same person.’ 

‘ Well, suppose they were — I don’t see anything funny 
about that.’ 

Thereupon Mr. Van Torp turned at last from the con- 
templation of the waistcoat and looked out of the bay- 
window at the distant trees, as if he were excessively 
weary of Logotheti’s talk. 

‘It occurred to me,’ said the latter, ‘that you might 
like to stop any further allusions to Miss Donne, and 
that if you happened to recognize the handwriting you 
might be able to do so effectually.’ 

‘There’s nothing against Madame Cordova in the 
article,’ answered Mr. Van Torp, and his aggressive blue 
eyes turned sharply to his visitor’s almond-shaped 


232 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XI 


brown ones. ‘You can’t say there’s a word against 
her.’ 

‘There may be in the next one/ suggested Logo the ti, 
meeting the look without emotion. ‘When people send 
anonymous letters about broadcast to injure men like 
you and me, they are not likely to stick at such a matter 
as a woman’s reputation.’ 

‘Well — maybe not.’ Mr. Van Torp turned his sharp 
eyes elsewhere. ‘You seem to take quite an interest 
in Madame Cordova, Mr. Logo the ti,’ he observed, in an 
indifferent tone. 

‘I knew her before she went on the stage, and I think 
I may call myself a friend of hers. At all events, I wish 
to spare her any annoyance from the papers if I can, 
and if you have any regard for her you will help me, I’m 
sure.’ 

‘I have the highest regard for Madame Cordova,’ 
said Mr. Van Torp, and there was a perceptible change 
in his tone; ‘but after this, I guess the best way I can 
show it is to keep out of her track. That’s about all 
there is to do. You don’t suppose I’m going to bring 
an action against that paper, do you?’ 

‘ Hardly ! ’ Logo the ti smiled. 

‘Well, then, what do you expect me to do, Mr. Logo- 
theti? ’ 

Again the eyes of the two men met. 

‘I’ll tell you,’ answered the Greek. ‘The story about 
your visit to Miss Donne in New York is perfectly true.’ 

‘You’re pretty frank,’ observed the American. 

‘Yes, I am. Very good. The man who wrote the 


CHAP. XI 


THE PRIMADONNA 


233 


letter and the article knows you ; and that probably 
means that you have known him, though you may never 
have taken any notice of him. He hates you, for some 
reason, and means to injure you if he can. Just take 
the trouble to find out who he is and suppress him, will 
you? If you don’t, he will throw more mud at honest 
women. He is probably some underling whose feelings 
you have hurt, or who has lost money by you, or both.’ 

‘ There’s something in that/ answered Mr. Van Torp, 
showing a little more interest. ‘ Do you happen to have 
any of his writing about you? I’ll look at it.’ 

Logotheti took a letter and a torn piece of brown paper 
from his pocket and handed both to his companion. 

'Read the letter, if you like/ he said. ‘The hand- 
writing seems to be the same as that on the wrapper.’ 

Mr. Van Torp first compared the address, and then pro- 
ceeded to read the anonymous letter. Logotheti watched 
his face quietly, but it did not change in the least. When 
he had finished, he folded the sheet, replaced it in the 
envelope, and returned it with the bit of paper. 

‘Much obliged/ he said, and he looked out of the win- 
dow again and was silent. 

Logotheti leaned back in his chair as he put the papers 
into his pocket again, and presently, as Mr. Van Torp 
did not seem inclined to say anything more, he rose to 
go. The American did not move, and still looked out 
of the window. 

‘You originally belonged to the East, Mr. Logotheti, 
didn’t you?’ he asked suddenly. 

‘Yes. I’m a Greek and a Turkish subject.’ 


234 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XI 


‘Do you happen to know the Patriarch of Constanti- 
nople?’ 

Logotheti stared in surprise, taken off his guard for 
once. 

‘Very well indeed/ he answered after an instant. 
‘He is my uncle.’ 

‘Why, now, that’s quite interesting!’ observed Mr. 
Van Torp, rising deliberately and thrusting his hands 
into his pockets. 

Logotheti, who knew nothing about the details of 
Lady Maud’s pending divorce, could not imagine what 
the American was driving at, and waited for more. Mr. 
Van Torp began to walk up and down, with his rather 
clumsy gait, digging his heels into vivid depths of the 
new Smyrna carpet at every step. 

‘I wasn’t going to tell you,’ he said at last, ‘but I may 
just as well. Most of the accusations in that letter are 
lies. I didn’t blow up the subway. I know it was 
done on purpose, of course, but I had nothing to do with 
it, and any man who says I had, takes me for a fool, 
which you’ll probably allow I’m not. You’re a man of 
business, Mr. Logotheti. There had been a fall in Nickel, 
and for weeks before the explosion I’d been making 
a considerable personal sacrifice to steady things. Now 
you know as well as I do that all big accidents are bad 
for the market when it’s shaky. Do you suppose I’d 
have deliberately produced one just then? Besides, 
I’m not a criminal. I didn’t blow up the subway any 
more than I blew up the Maine to bring on the Cuban 
war! The man’s a fool.’ 


CHAP. XI 


THE PRIMADONNA 


235 


‘I quite agree with you/ said the Greek, listening with 
interest. 

‘Then there’s another thing. That about poor Mrs. 
Moon, who’s gone out of her mind. It’s nonsense to 
say I was the reason of Bamberger’s divorcing his wife. 
In the first place, there are the records of the divorce, 
and my name was never mentioned. I was her friend, 
that’s all, and Bamberger resented it — he’s a resentful 
sort of man anyway. He thought she’d marry me as 
soon as he got the divorce. Well, she didn’t. She 
married old Alvah Moon, who was the only man she 
ever cared for. The Lord knows how it was, but that 
wicked old scarecrow made all the women love him, 
to his dying day. I had a high regard for Mrs. Bam- 
berger, and I suppose she was right to marry him if she 
liked him. Well, she married him in too much of a 
hurry, and the child that was born abroad was Bam- 
berger’s and not his, and when he found it out he sent 
the girl East and would never see her again, and didn’t 
leave her a cent when he died. That’s the truth about 
that, Mr. Logotheti. I tell you because you’ve got that 
letter in your pocket, and I’d rather have your good 
word than your bad word in business any day.’ 

‘Thank you,’ answered Logotheti. ‘I’m glad to know 
the facts in the case, though I never could see what a 
man’s private life can have to do with his reputation 
in the money market ! ’ 

‘Well, it has, in some countries. Different kinds of 
cats have different kinds of ways. There’s one thing 
more, but it’s not in the letter, it’s in the article. That’s 


236 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XI 


about Countess Leven, and it’s the worst lie of the lot, 
for there’s not a better woman than she is from here to 
China. I’m not at liberty to tell you anything of the 
matter she’s interested in and on which she consults 
me. But her father is my next neighbour here, and I 
seem to be welcome at his house; he’s a pretty sensible 
man, and that makes for her, it seems to me. As for 
that husband of hers, we’ve a good name in America 
for men like him. We’d call him a skunk over there. 
I suppose the English word is polecat, but it doesn’t 
say as much. I don’t think there’s anything else I 
want to tell you.’ 

‘You spoke of my uncle, the Patriarch,’ observed 
Logotheti. 

‘Did I? Yes. Well, what sort of a gentleman is he, 
anyway?’ 

The question seemed rather vague to the Greek. 

‘How do you mean?’ he inquired, buttoning his coat 
over the wonderful waistcoat. 

‘Is he a friendly kind of a person, I mean? Obliging, 
if you take him the right way? That’s what I mean. 
Or does he get on his ear right away?’ 

‘I should say,’ answered Logotheti, without a smile, 
‘ that he gets on his ear right away — if that means the 
opposite of being friendly and obliging. But I may 
be prejudiced, for he does not approve of me.’ 

‘Why not, Mr. Logotheti?’ 

‘My uncle says I’m a pagan, and worship idols.’ 

‘Maybe he means the Golden Calf,’ suggested Mr. Van 
Torp gravely. 


CHAP. XI 


THE PRIMADONNA 


237 


Logotheti laughed. 

'The other deity in business is the Brazen Serpent, I 
believe/ he retorted. 

'The two would look pretty well out there on my 
lawn/ answered Mr. Van Torp, his hard face relaxing 
a little. 

'To return to the point. Can I be of any use to you 
with the Patriarch? We are not on bad terms, though 
he does think me a heathen. Is there anything I can 
do?’ 

'Thank you, not at present. Much obliged. I only 
wanted to know.’ 

Logotheti’ s curiosity was destined to remain unsatis- 
fied. He refused Mr. Van Torp’s not very pressing in- 
vitation to stay to luncheon, given at the very moment 
when he was getting into his motor, and a few seconds 
later he was tearing down the avenue. 

Mr. Van Torp stood on the steps till he was out of 
sight and then came down himself and strolled slowly 
away towards the trees again, his hands behind him and 
his eyes constantly bent upon the road, three paces 
ahead. 

He was not always quite truthful. Scruples were not 
continually uppermost in his mind. For instance, what 
he had told Lady Maud about his engagement to poor 
Miss Bamberger did not quite agree with what he had 
said to Margaret on the steamer. 

In certain markets in New York, three kinds of eggs 
are offered for sale, namely, Eggs, Fresh Eggs, and 
Strictly Fresh Eggs. I have seen the advertisement. 


238 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XI 


Similarly in Mr. Van Torp’s opinion there were three 
sorts of stories, to wit, Stories, True Stories, and Strictly 
True Stories. Clearly, each account of his engagement 
must have belonged to one of these classes, as well as the 
general statement he had made to Logotheti about the 
charges brought against him in the anonymous letter. 
The reason why he had made that statement was plain 
enough; he meant it to be repeated to Margaret because 
he really wished her to think well of him. Moreover, he 
had recognised the handwriting at once as that of Mr. 
Feist, Isidore Bamberger’s former secretary, who knew 
a good many things and might turn out a dangerous 
enemy. 

But Logotheti, who knew something of men, and had 
dealt with some very accomplished experts in fraud from 
New York and London to Constantinople, had his 
doubts about the truth of what he had heard, and under- 
stood at once why the usually reticent American had 
talked so much about himself. Van Torp, he was sure, 
was in love with the singer; that was his weak side, and 
in whatever affected her he might behave like a brute 
or a baby, but would certainly act with something like 
rudimentary simplicity in either case. In Logo the ti’s 
opinion Northern and English-speaking men might be 
as profound as Persians in matters of money, and some- 
times were, but where women were concerned they were 
generally little better than sentimental children, unless 
they were mere animals. Not one in a thousand cared 
for the society of women, or even of one particular 
woman, for its own sake, for the companionship, and 


CHAP. XI 


THE PRIMADONNA 


239 


the exchange of ideas about things of which women 
know how to think. To the better sort, that is, to the 
sentimental ones, a woman always seemed what she 
was not, a goddess, a saint, or a sort of glorified sister; 
to the rest, she was an instrument of amusement and 
pleasure, more or less necessary and more or less pur- 
chasable. Perhaps an Englishman or an American, 
judging Greeks from what he could learn about them 
in ordinary intercourse, would get about as near the 
truth as Logotheti did. In his main conclusion the 
latter was probably right; Mr. Van Torp’s affections 
might be of such exuberant nature as would admit of 
being divided between two or three objects at the same 
time, or they might not. But when he spoke of having 
the ‘ highest regard’ for Madame Cordova, without 
denying the facts about the interview in which he had 
asked her to marry him and had lost his head because 
she refused, he was at least admitting that he was in 
love with her, or had been at that time. 

Mr. Van Torp also confessed that he had entertained 
a ‘high regard ’ for the beautiful Mrs. Bamberger, now 
unhappily insane. It was noticeable that he had not 
used the same expression in speaking of Lady Maud. 
Nevertheless, as in the Bamberger affair, he appeared 
as the chief cause of trouble between husband and wife. 
Logotheti was considered ‘dangerous’ even in Paris, 
and his experiences had not been dull; but, so far, he 
had found his way through life without inadvertently 
stepping upon any of those concealed traps through 
which the gay and unwary of both sexes are so often 


240 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XI 


dropped into the divorce court, to the surprise of every- 
body. It seemed the more strange to him that Rufus 
Van Torp, only a few years his senior, should now find 
himself in that position for the second time. Yet Van 
Torp was not a ladies’ man; he was hard-featured, rough 
of speech, and clumsy of figure, and it was impossible to 
believe that any woman could think him good-looking 
or be carried away by his talk. The case of Mrs. 
Bamberger could be explained; she might have had 
beauty, but she could have had little else that would 
have appealed to such a man as Logotheti. But there 
was Lady Maud, an acknowledged beauty in London, 
thoroughbred, aristocratic, not easily shocked perhaps, 
but easily disgusted, like most women of her class; and 
there was no doubt but that her husband had found her 
under extremely strange circumstances, in the act of 
receiving from Van Torp a large sum of money for which 
she altogether declined to account. Van Torp had not 
denied that story either, so it was probably true. Yet 
Logotheti, w T hom so many women thought irresistible, 
had felt instinctively that she was one of those who 
would smile serenely upon the most skilful and persist- 
ent besieger from the security of an impregnable fortress 
of virtue. Logotheti did not naturally feel unqualified 
respect for many women, but since he had known Lady 
Maud it had never occurred to him that any one could 
take the smallest liberty with her. On the other hand, 
though he was genuinely in love with Margaret and 
desired nothing so much as to marry her, he had never 
been in the least afraid of her, and he had deliberately 


CHAP. XI 


THE PRIMADONNA 


241 


attempted to carry her off against her will; and if she 
had looked upon his conduct then as anything more 
serious than a mad prank, she had certainly forgiven 
it very soon. 

The only reason for his flying visit to Derbyshire had 
been his desire to keep Margaret’s name out of an im- 
pending scandal in which he foresaw that Mr. Van Torp 
and Lady Maud were to be the central figures, and he 
believed that he had done something to bring about that 
result, if he had started the millionaire on the right 
scent. He judged Van Torp to be a good hater and a 
man of many resources, who would not now be satisfied 
till he had the anonymous writer of the letter and the 
article in his power. Logotheti had no means of guess- 
ing who the culprit was, and did not care to know. 

He reached town late in the afternoon, having covered 
something like three hundred miles since early morning. 
About seven o’clock he stopped at Margaret’s door, in 
the hope of finding her at home and of being asked to 
dine alone with her, but as he got out of his hansom and 
sent it away he heard the door shut and he found him- 
self face to face with Paul Griggs. 

'Miss Donne is out,’ said the author, as they shook 
hands. 'She’s been spending the day with the Creed- 
mores, and when I rang she had just telephoned that 
she would not be back for dinner ! ’ 

'What a bore!’ exclaimed Logotheti. 

The two men walked slowly along the pavement to- 
gether, and for some time neither spoke. Logotheti had 
nothing to do, or believed so because he was disappointed 

R 


242 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XI 


in not finding Margaret in. The elder man looked pre- 
occupied, and the Greek was the first to speak. 

‘I suppose you’ve seen that shameful article about 
Van Torp,’ he said. 

' Yes. Somebody sent me a marked copy of the paper. 
Do you know whether Miss Donne has seen it?’ 

'Yes. She got a marked copy too. So did I. What 
do you think of it?’ 

'Just what you do, I fancy. Have you any idea who 
wrote it?’ 

'Probably some underling in the Nickel Trust whom 
Van Torp has offended without knowing it, or who has 
lost money by him.’ 

Griggs glanced at his companion’s face, for the hy- 
pothesis struck him as being tenable. 

'Unless it is some enemy of Countess Leven’s,’ he sug- 
gested. 'Her husband is really going to divorce her, 
as the article says.’ 

'I suppose she will defend herself,’ said Logo the ti. 

'If she has a chance.’ 

'What do you mean?’ 

' Do you happen to know what sort of man the present 
Patriarch of Constantinople is?’ 

Logotheti’s jaw dropped, and he slackened his pace. 

'What in the world ’ he began, but did not finish 

the sentence. 'That’s the second time to-day I’ve been 
asked about him.’ 

'That’s very natural,’ said Griggs calmly. 'You’re 
one of the very few men in town who are likely to know 
him.’ 


CHAP. XI THE PRIMADONNA 243 

'Of course I know him/ answered Logo the ti, still 
mystified. 'He’s my uncle.’ 

'Really? That’s very lucky!’ 

'Look here, Griggs, is this some silly joke?’ 

'A joke? Certainly not. Lady Maud’s husband can 
only get a divorce through the Patriarch because he 
married her out of Russia. You know about that law, 
don’t you?’ 

Logo the ti understood at last. 

'No/ he said, ' I never heard of it. But if that is the 
case I may be able to do something — not that I’m con- 
sidered orthodox at the Patriarchate! The old gentle- 
man has been told that I’m trying to revive the worship 
of the Greek gods and have built a temple to Aphrodite 
Xenia in the Place de la Concorde ! ’ 

'You’re quite capable of it/ observed Griggs. 

'Oh, quite! Only, I’ve not done it yet. I’ll see 
what I can do. Are you much interested in the matter?’ 

'Only on general principles, because I believe Lady 
Maud is perfectly straight, and it is a shame that such 
a creature as Leven should be allowed to divorce an 
honest Englishwoman. By the bye — speaking of her 
reminds me of that dinner at the Turkish Embassy — 
do you remember a disagreeable-looking man who sat 
next to me, one Feist, a countryman of mine?’ 

'Rather! I wondered how he came there.’ 

'He had a letter of introduction from the Turkish 
Minister in Washington. He is full of good letters of 
introduction.’ 

'I should think they would need to be good/ observed 


244 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XI 


Logotheti. ‘With that face of his he would need an * 
introduction to a Port Said gambling-hell before they 
would let him in.’ 

‘I agree with you. But he is well provided, as I say, 
and he goes everywhere. Some one has put him down 
at the Mutton Chop. You never go there, do you? ’ 

‘I’m not asked/ laughed Logotheti. ‘And as for 
becoming a member, they say it’s impossible.’ 

‘It takes ten or fifteen years,’ Griggs answered, ‘and 
then you won’t be elected unless every one likes you. But 
you may be put down as a visitor there just as at any 
other club. This fellow Feist, for instance — we had 
trouble with him last night — or rather this morning, 
for it was two o’clock. He has been dropping in often 
of late, towards midnight. At first he was more or less 
amusing with his stories, for he has a wonderful memory. 
You know the sort of funny man who rattles on as if he 
were wound up for the evening, and afterwards you can- 
not remember a word he has said. It’s all very well for 
a while, but you soon get sick of it. Besides, this par- 
ticular specimen drinks like a whale.’ 

‘He looks as if he did.’ 

‘Last night he had been talking a good deal, and most 
of the men who had been there had gone off. You know 
there’s only one room at the Mutton Chop, with a long 
table, and if a man takes the floor there’s no escape. I 
had come in about one o’clock to get something to eat, 
and Feist poured out a steady stream of stories as usual, 
though only one or two listened to him. Suddenly his 
eyes looked queer, and he stammered, and rolled off his 


CHAP. XI. THE PRIMADONNA 245 

chair, and lay in a heap, either dead drunk or in a fit, I 
don’t know which.’ 

'And I suppose you carried him downstairs,’ said 
Logotheti, for Griggs was known to be stronger than 
other men, though no longer young. 

'I did,’ Griggs answered. 'That’s usually my share 
of the proceedings. The last person I carried — let me 
see — I think it must have been that poor girl who died 
at the Opera in New York. We had found Feist’s ad- 
dress in the visitors’ book, and we sent him home in a 
hansom. I wonder whether he got there!’ 

'I should think the member who put him down would 
be rather annoyed,’ observed Logotheti. 

'Yes. It’s the first time anything of that sort ever 
happened at the Mutton Chop, and I fancy it will be 
the last. I don’t think we shall see Mr. Feist again.’ 

'I took a particular dislike to his face,’ Logotheti said. 
'I remember thinking of him when I went home that 
night, and wondering who he was and what he was 
about.’ 

'At first I took him for a detective,’ said Griggs. 'But 
detectives don’t drink.’ 

'What made you think he might be one?’ 

' He has a very clever way of leading the conversation 
to a point and then asking an unexpected question.’ 

'Perhaps he is an amateur,’ suggested Logotheti. 
'He may be a spy. Is Feist an American name?’ 

'You will find all sorts of names in America. They 
prove nothing in the way of nationality, unless they are 
English, Dutch, or French, and even then they don’t 


246 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XI 


prove much. I’m an American myself, and I feel sure 
that Feist either is one or has spent many years in the 
country, in which case he is probably naturalised. As 
for his being a spy, I don’t think I ever came across one 
in England.’ 

‘ They come here to rest in time of peace, or to escape 
hanging in other countries in time of war,’ said the 
Greek. ‘His being at the Turkish Embassy, of all places 
in the world, is rather in favour of the idea. Do you 
happen to remember the name of his hotel?’ 

‘Are you going to call on him?’ Griggs asked with a 
smile. 

‘ Perhaps. He begins to interest me. Is it indiscreet 
to ask what sort of questions he put to you?’ 

‘He’s stopping at the Carlton — if the cabby took 
him there! We gave the man half-a-crown for the 
job, and took his number, so I suppose it was all right. 
As for the questions he asked me, that’s another 
matter.’ 

Logotheti glanced quickly at his companion’s rather 
grim face, and was silent for a few moments. He judged 
that Mr. Feist’s inquiries must have concerned a woman, 
since Griggs was so reticent, and it required no great 
ingenuity to connect that probability with one or both 
of the ladies who had been at the dinner where Griggs 
and Feist had first met. 

‘I think I shall go and ask for Mr. Feist,’ he said 
presently. ‘I shall say that I heard he was ill and 
wanted to know if I could do anything for him.’ 

‘I’ve no doubt he’ll be much touched by your kind- 


CHAP. XI 


THE PRIMADONNA 


247 


ness!’ said Griggs. 'But please don't mention the 
Mutton Chop Club, if you really see him.' 

'Oh no! Besides, I shall let him do the talking.’ 

'Then take care that you don’t let him talk you to 
death!’ 

Logo the ti smiled as he hailed a passing hansom; he 
nodded to his companion, told the man to go to the 
Carlton, and drove away, leaving Griggs to continue his 
walk alone. 

The elderly man of letters had not talked about Mr. 
Feist with any special intention, and was very far from 
thinking that what he had said would lead to any im- 
portant result. He liked the Greek, because he liked 
most Orientals, under certain important reservations 
and at a certain distance, and he had lived amongst 
them long enough not to be surprised at anything they 
did. Logotheti had been disappointed in not finding 
the Primadonna at home, and he was not inclined to put 
up with the usual round of an evening in London during 
the early part of the season as a substitute for what he 
had lost. He was the more put out, because, when 
he had last seen Margaret, three or four days earlier, she 
had told him that if he came on that evening at about 
seven o’clock he would probably find her alone. Hav- 
ing nothing that looked at all amusing to occupy him, 
he was just in the mood to do anything unusual that 
presented itself. 

Griggs guessed at most of these things, and as he 
walked along he vaguely pictured to himself the inter- 
view that was likely to take place. 


CHAPTER XII 


Opinion was strongly against Mr. Van Torp. A million- 
aire is almost as good a mark at which to throw mud 
as a woman of the world whose reputation has never 
before been attacked, and when the two can be pilloried 
together it is hardly to be expected that ordinary 
people should abstain from pelting them and calling 
them bad names. 

Lady Maud, indeed, was protected to some extent 
by her father and brothers, and by many loyal friends. 
It is happily still doubtful how far one may go in print- 
ing lies about an honest woman without getting into 
trouble with the law, and when the lady’s father is not 
only a peer, but has previously been a barrister of 
reputation and a popular and hard-working member 
of the House of Commons during a long time, it is 
generally safer to use guarded language; the advisa- 
bility of moderation also increases directly as the num- 
ber and size of the lady’s brothers, and inversely as 
their patience. Therefore, on the whole, Lady Maud 
was much better treated by the society columns than 
Margaret at first expected. 

On the other hand, they vented their spleen and 
sharpened their English on the American financier, who 
had no relations and scarcely any friends to stand by 
248 


CHAP. XII 


THE PRIMADONNA 


249 


him, and was, moreover, in a foreign country, which 
always seems to be regarded as an aggravating circum- 
stance when a man gets into any sort of trouble. Isi- 
dore Bamberger and Mr. Feist had roused and let loose 
upon him a whole pack of hungry reporters and para- 
graph writers on both sides of the Atlantic. 

The papers did not at first print his name except in 
connection with the divorce of Lady Maud. But this 
was a landmark, the smallest reference to which made 
all other allusions to him quite clear. It was easy to 
speak of Mr. Van Torp as the central figure in a cause 
celbbre: newspapers love the French language the more 
as they understand it the less; just as the gentle amateur 
in literature tries to hide his cloven hoof under the thin 
elegance of italics. 

Particular stress was laid upon the millionaire’s 
dreadful hypocrisy. He taught in the Sunday Schools 
at Nickel ville, the big village which had sprung up at 
his will and which was the headquarters of his sancti- 
monious wickedness. He was compared to Solomon, 
not for his wisdom, but on account of his domestic 
arrangements. He was indeed a father to his flock. It 
was a touching sight to see the little ones gathered 
round the knees of this great and good man, and to note 
how an unconscious and affectionate imitation reflected 
his face in theirs. It was true that there was another 
side to this truly patriarchal picture. In a city of the 
Far West, wrote an eloquent paragraph writer, a pale 
face, once divinely beautiful, was often seen at the 
barred window of a madhouse, and eyes that had once 


250 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XII 


looked too tenderly into those of the Nickelville Solo- 
mon stared wildly at the palm-trees in the asylum 
grounds. This paragraph was rich in sentiment. 

There were a good many mentions of the explosion 
in New York, too, and hints, dark, but uncommonly 
straight, that the great Sunday School teacher had been 
the author and stage-manager of an awful comedy de- 
signed expressly to injure a firm of contractors against 
whom he had a standing grudge. In proof of the asser- 
tion, the story went on to say that he had written four 
hours before the ' accident ’ happened to give warning 
of it to the young lady whom he was about to marry. 
She was a neurasthenic young lady, and in spite of the 
warning she died very suddenly at the theatre from 
shock immediately after the explosion, and his note 
was found on her dressing-table when she was brought 
home dead. Clearly, if the explosion had not been his 
work, and if he had been informed of it beforehand, he 
would have warned the police and the Department of 
Public Works at the same time. The young lady’s 
untimely death had not prevented him from sailing for 
Europe three or four days later, and on the trip he had 
actually occupied alone the same ‘ thousand dollar suite ’ 
which he had previously engaged for himself and his 
bride. From this detail the public might form some 
idea of the Nickelville magnate’s heartless character. 
In fact, if one-half of what was written, telegraphed, 
and printed about Rufus Van Torp on both sides of the 
Atlantic during the next fortnight was to be believed, 
he had no character at all. 


CHAP. XII 


THE PRIMADONNA 


251 


To all this he answered nothing, and he did not take 
the trouble to allude to the matter in the few letters 
he wrote to his acquaintances. Day after day numbers 
of marked papers were carefully ironed and laid on the 
breakfast- table, after having been read and commented 
on in the servants’ hall. The butler began to look 
askance at him, Mrs. Dubbs, the housekeeper, talked 
gloomily of giving warning, and the footmen gossiped 
with the stable hands; but the men all decided that it 
was not derogatory to their dignity to remain in the 
service of a master who was soon to be exhibited in the 
divorce court beside such a 'real lady’ as Lord Creed- 
more’s daughter; the housemaids agreed in this view, 
and the housekeeper consulted Miss More. For Mrs. 
Dubbs was an imposing person, morally and physically, 
and had a character to lose; and though the place was 
a very good one for her old age, because the master 
only spent six weeks or two months at Oxley Paddox 
each year, and never found fault, yet Mrs. Dubbs was 
not going to have her name associated with that of a 
gentleman who blew up underground works and took 
Solomon’s view of the domestic affections. She came 
of very good people in the north; one of her brothers 
was a minister, and the other was an assistant steward 
on a large Scotch estate. 

Miss More’s quiet serenity was not at all disturbed 
by what was happening, for it could hardly be supposed 
that she was ignorant of the general attack on Mr. Van 
Torp, though he did not leave the papers lying about, 
where little Ida’s quick eyes might fall on a marked 


252 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XII 


passage. The housekeeper waited for an occasion 
when Mr. Van Torp had taken the child for a drive, as 
he often did, and Miss More was established in her 
favourite corner of the garden, just out of sight of the 
house. Mrs. Dubbs first exposed the situation, then 
expressed a strong opinion as to her own respectability, 
and finally asked Miss More’s advice. 

Miss More listened attentively, and waited till her 
large and sleek interlocutor had absolutely nothing 
more to say. Then she spoke. 

‘Mrs. Dubbs/ she said, ‘do you consider me a respect- 
able young woman?’ 

‘Oh, Miss More!’ cried the housekeeper. ‘You! 
Indeed, I’d put my hand into the fire for you any day!’ 

‘And I’m an American, and I’ve known Mr. Van 
Torp several years, though this is the first time you have 
seen me here. Do you think I would let the child stay 
an hour under his roof, or stay here myself, if I believed 
one word of all those wicked stories the papers are 
publishing? Look at me, please. Do you think I 
would?’ 

It was quite impossible to look at Miss More’s quiet 
healthy face and clear eyes and to believe she would. 
There are some women of whom one is sure at a glance 
that they are perfectly trustworthy in every imaginable 
way, and above even the suspicion of countenancing 
any wrong. 

‘No/ answered Mrs. Dubbs, with honest conviction, 
‘I don’t, indeed.’ 

‘I think, then/ said Miss More, ‘that if I feel I can 


CHAP. XII 


THE PRIMADONNA 


253 


stay here, you are safe in staying too. I do not believe 
any of these slanders, and I am quite sure that Mr. Van 
Torp is one of the kindest men in the world.’ 

‘I feel as if you must be right, Miss More/ replied the 
housekeeper. 'But they do say dreadful things about 
him, indeed, and he doesn’t deny a word of it, as he 
ought to, in my humble opinion, though it’s not my 
business to judge, of course, but I’ll say this, Miss More, 
and that is, that if the butler’s character was publicly 
attacked in the papers, in the way Mr. Van Torp’s is, 
and if I were Mr. Van Torp, which of course I’m not, I’d 
say "Crookes, you may be all right, but if you’re going 
to be butler here any longer, it’s your duty to defend 
yourself against these attacks upon you in the papers, 
Crookes, because as a Christian man you must not hide 
your light under a bushel, Crookes, but let it shine 
abroad.” That’s what I’d say. Miss More, and I should 
like to know if you don’t think I should be right.’ 

'If the English and American press united to attack 
the butler’s character,’ answered Miss More without a 
smile, 'I think you would be quite right, Mrs. Dubbs. 
But as regards Mr. Van Torp’s present position, I am 
sure he is the best judge of what he ought to do.’ 

These words of wisdom, and Miss More’s truthful 
eyes, greatly reassured the housekeeper, who afterwards 
upbraided the servants for paying any attention to such 
wicked falsehoods; and Mr. Crookes, the butler, wrote 
to his aged mother, who was anxious about his situation, 
to say that Mr. Van Torp must be either a real gentle- 
man or a very hardened criminal indeed, because it 


254 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XII 


was only forgers and real gentlemen who could act so 
precious cool; but that, on the whole, he, Crookes, and 
the housekeeper, who was a highly respectable person 
and the sister of a minister, as he wished his mother to 
remember, had made up their minds that Mr. V. T. was 
Al, copper-bottomed — Mrs. Crookes was the widow of 
a seafaring man, and lived at Liverpool, and had heard 
Lloyd's rating quoted all her life — and that they, the 
writer and Mrs. Dubbs, meant to see him through his 
troubles, though he was a little trying at his meals, for 
he would have butter on the table at his dinner, and he 
wanted two and three courses served together, and 
drank milk at his luncheon, like no Christian gentleman 
did that Mr. Crookes had ever seen. 

The financier might have been amused if he could 
have read this letter, which contained no allusion to the 
material attractions of Torp Towers as a situation; for 
like a good many American millionaires, Mr. Van Torp 
had a blind spot on his financial retina. He could deal 
daringly and surely with vast sums, or he could screw 
twice the normal quantity of work out of an underpaid 
clerk; but the household arithmetic that lies between 
the two was entirely beyond his comprehension. He 
‘didn’t want to be bothered,’ he said; he maintained 
that he ‘could make more money in ten minutes than 
he could save in a year by checking the housekeeper’s 
accounts’; he ‘could five on coffee and pie,’ but if he 
chose to hire the chef of the Cafe Anglais to cook for 
him at five thousand dollars a year he ‘didn’t want to 
know the price of a truffled pheasant or a chaudfroid 


CHAP. XII 


THE PRIMADONNA 


255 


of ortolans.’ That was his way, and it was good enough 
for him. What was the use of having made money if 
you were to be bothered? And besides, he concluded, 
‘it was none of anybody’s blank blank business what 
he did.’ 

Mr. Van Torp did not hesitate to borrow similes from 
another world when his rather limited command of 
refined language was unequal to the occasion. 

But at the present juncture, though his face did not 
change, and though he slept as soundly and had as 
good an appetite as usual, no words with which he was 
acquainted could express his feelings at all. He had, 
indeed, consigned the writer of the first article to per- 
dition with some satisfaction; but after his interview 
with Logotheti, when he had understood that a general 
attack upon him had begun, he gathered his strength 
in silence and studied the position with all the concen- 
tration of earnest thought which his exceptional nature 
could command. 

He had recognised Feist’s handwriting, and he re- 
membered the man as his partner’s former secretary. 
Feist might have written the letter to Logotheti and the 
first article, but Van Torp did not believe him capable 
of raising a general hue and cry on both sides of the 
Atlantic. It undoubtedly happened sometimes that 
when a fire had been smouldering long unseen a single 
spark sufficed to start the blaze, but Mr. Van Torp was 
too well informed as to public opinion about him to 
have been in ignorance of any general feeling against 
him, if it had existed; and the present attack was of too 


256 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XII 


personal a nature to have been devised by financial 
rivals. Besides, the Nickel Trust had recently ab- 
sorbed all its competitiors to such an extent that it had 
no rivals at all, and the dangers that threatened it lay 
on the one hand in the growing strength of the Labour 
Party in its great movement against capital, and on 
the other in its position with regard to recent American 
legislation about Trusts. From the beginning Mr. Van 
Torp had been certain that the campaign of defamation 
had not been begun by the Unions, and by its nature it 
could have no connection with the legal aspect of his 
position. It was therefore clear that war had been 
declared upon him by one or more individuals on purely 
personal grounds, and that Mr. Feist was but the chief 
instrument in the hands of an unknown enemy. 

But at first sight it did not look as if his assailant 
were Isidore Bamberger. The violent attack on him 
might not affect the credit of the Nickel Trust, but it 
was certainly not likely to improve it and Mr. Van Torp 
believed that if his partner had a grudge against him, 
any attempt at revenge would be made in a shape that 
would not affect the Trust’s finances. Bamberger was a 
resentful sort of man, but on the other hand he was a 
man of business, and his fortune depended on that of 
his great partner. 

Mr. Van Torp walked every morning in the park, 
thinking over these things, and little Ida tripped along 
beside him watching the squirrels and the birds, and 
not saying much; but now and then, when she felt the 
gentle pressure of his hand on hers, which usually meant 


CHAP. XII 


THE PRIMADONNA 


257 


that he was going to speak to her, she looked up to 
watch his lips, and they did not move; only his eyes 
met hers, and the faint smile that came into his face 
then was not at all like the one which most people saw 
there. So she smiled back, happily, and looked at the 
squirrels again, sure that a rabbit would soon make a 
dash over the open and cross the road, and hoping for 
the rare delight of seeing a hare. And the tame red 
and fallow deer looked at her suspiciously from a dis- 
tance, as if she might turn into a motor-car. In those 
morning walks she did not again see his lips forming 
words that frightened her, and she began to be quite 
sure that he had stopped swearing to himself because 
she had spoken to him so seriously. 

Once he looked at her so long and with so much 
earnestness that she asked him what he was thinking 
of, and he gently pushed back the broad-brimmed hat 
she wore, so as to see her forehead and beautiful golden 
hair. 

‘You are growing very like your mother/ he said, 
after a little while. 

They had stopped in the broad drive, and little Ida 
gazed gravely up at him for a moment. Then she put 
up her arms. 

‘I think I want to give you a kiss, Mr. Van Torp/ 
she said with the utmost gravity. ‘You’re so good to 
me.’ 

Mr. Van Torp stooped, and she put her arms round 
his short neck and kissed the hard, flat cheek once, and 
he kissed hers rather awkwardly, 
s 


258 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XII 


‘ Thank you, my dear/ he said, in an odd voice, as he 
straightened himself. 

He took her hand again to walk on, and the great iron 
mouth was drawn a little to one side, and it looked as if 
the lips might have trembled if they had not been so 
tightly shut. Perhaps Mr. Van Torp had never kissed 
a child before. 

She was very happy and contented, for she had spent 
most of her life in a New England village alone with 
Miss More, and the great English country-house was 
full of wonder and mystery for her, and the park was 
certainly the Earthly Paradise. She had hardly ever 
been with other children and was rather afraid of them, 
because they did not always understand what she said, 
as most grown people did; so she was not at all lonely 
now. On the contrary, she felt that her small existence 
was ever so much fuller than before, since she now 
loved two people instead of only one, and the two people 
seemed to agree so well together. In America she had 
only seen Mr. Van Torp at intervals, when he had ap- 
peared at the cottage near Boston, the bearer of toys 
and chocolates and other good things, and she had not 
been told till after she had landed in Liverpool that she 
was to be taken to stop with him in the country while 
he remained in England. Till then he had always 
called her ‘Miss Ida/ in an absurdly formal way, but 
ever since she had arrived at Oxley Paddox he had 
dropped the ‘Miss/ and had never failed to spend two 
or three hours alone with her every day. Though his 
manner had not changed much, and he treated her with 


CHAP. XII 


THE PRIMADONNA 


259 


a sort of queer formality, much as he would have be- 
haved if she had been twenty years old instead of nine, 
she had been growing more and more sure that he 
loved her and would give her anything in the world 
she asked for, though there was really nothing she 
wanted; and in return she grew gratefully fond of him 
by quick degrees, till her affection expressed itself in 
her solemn proposal to 'give him a kiss/ 

Not long after that Mr. Van Torp found amongst his 
letters one from Lady Maud, of which the envelope was 
stamped with the address of her father’s country place, 
'Craythew.’ He read the contents carefully, and made 
a note in his pocket-book before tearing the sheet and 
the envelope into a number of small bits. 

There was nothing very compromising in the note, 
but Mr. Van Torp certainly did not know that his 
butler regularly offered first and second prizes in the 
servants’ hall, every Saturday night, for the 'best-put- 
together letters ’ of the week — to those of his satellites, 
in other words, who had been most successful in piecing 
together scraps from the master’s wastepaper basket. 
In houses where the post-bag has a patent lock, of which 
the master keeps the key, this diversion has been found 
a good substitute for the more thrilling entertainment 
of steaming the letters and reading them before taking 
them upstairs. If Mrs. Dubbs was aware of Mr. Crookes’ 
weekly distribution of rewards she took no notice of it; 
but as she rarely condescended to visit the lower re- 
gions, and only occasionally asked Mr. Crookes to dine 
in her own sitting-room, she may be allowed the bene- 


260 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XII 


fit of the doubt; and, besides, she was a very superior 
person. 

On the day after he had received Lady Maud’s note, 
Mr. Van Torp rode out by himself. No one, judging 
from his looks, would have taken him for a good rider. 
He rode seldom, too, never talked of horses, and was 
never seen at a race. When he rode he did not even 
take the trouble to put on gaiters, and, after he had 
bought Oxley Paddox, the first time that his horse was 
brought to the door, by a groom who had never seen him, 
the latter could have sworn that the millionaire had 
never been on a horse before and was foolishly deter- 
mined to break his neck. On that occasion Mr. Van 
Torp came down the steps, with a big cigar in his mouth, 
in his ordinary clothes, without so much as a pair of 
straps to keep his trousers down, or a bit of a stick in 
his hand. The animal was a rather ill-tempered black 
that had arrived from Yorkshire two days previously 
in charge of a boy who gave him a bad character. As 
Mr. Van Torp descended the steps with his clumsy gait, 
the horse laid his ears well back for a moment and 
looked as if he meant to kick anything within reach. 
Mr. Van Torp looked at him in a dull way, puffed his 
cigar, and made one remark in the form of a query. 

'He ain’t a lamb, is he?’ 

'No, sir,’ answered the groom with sympathetic alac- 
rity, 'and if I was you, sir, I wouldn’t ’ 

But the groom’s good advice was checked by an un- 
expected phenomenon. Mr. Van Torp was suddenly 
up, and the black was plunging wildly as was only to 


CHAP. XII 


THE PRIMADONNA 


261 


be expected; what was more extraordinary was that 
Mr. Van Torp's expression showed no change what- 
ever, the very big cigar was stuck in his mouth at pre- 
cisely the same angle as before, and he appeared to be 
glued to the saddle. He sat perfectly erect, with his 
legs perpendicularly straight, and his hands low and 
quiet. 

The next moment the black bolted down the drive, 
but Mr. Van Torp did not seem the least disturbed, and 
the astonished groom, his mouth wide open and his 
arms hanging down, saw that the rider gave the beast 
his head for a couple of hundred yards, and then actually 
stopped him short, bringing him almost to the ground 
on his haunches. 

‘My Gawd, Vs a cowboy!’ exclaimed the groom, 
who was a Cockney, and had seen a Wild West show 
and recognised the real thing. ‘And me thinkin' 'e 
was goin' to break his precious neck and wastin' my 
bloomin' sympathy on 'im!' 

Since that first day Mr. Van Torp had not ridden 
more than a score of times in two years. He preferred 
driving, because it was less trouble, and partly because 
he could take little Ida with him. It was therefore 
always a noticeable event in the monotonous existence 
at Torp Towers when he ordered a horse to be saddled, 
as he did on the day after he had got Lady Maud's note 
from Craythew. 

He rode across the hilly country at a leisurely pace, 
first by lanes and afterwards over a broad moor, till he 
entered a small beech wood by a bridle-path not wide 


262 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XII 


enough for two to ride together, and lined with rho- 
dodendrons, lilacs, and laburnum. A quarter of a mile 
from the entrance a pretty glade widened to an open 
lawn, in the middle of which stood a ruin, consisting of 
the choir and chancel arch of a chapel. Mr. Van Torp 
drew rein before it, threw his right leg over the pommel 
before him, and remained sitting sideways on the saddle, 
for the very good reason that he did not see anything 
to sit on if he got down, and that it was of no use to 
waste energy in standing. His horse might have re- 
sented such behaviour on the part of any one else, but 
accepted the western rider’s eccentricities quite calmly 
and proceeded to crop the damp young grass at his feet. 

Mr. Van Torp had come to meet Lady Maud. The 
place was lonely and conveniently situated, being about 
half-way between Oxley Paddox and Craythew, on Mr. 
Van Torp’s land, which was so thoroughly protected 
against trespassers and reporters by wire fences and 
special watchmen that there was little danger of any 
one getting within the guarded boundary. On the side 
towards Craythew there was a gate with a patent lock, 
to which Lady Maud had a key. 

Mr. Van Torp was at the meeting-place at least a 
quarter of an hour before the appointed time. His 
horse only moved a short step every now and then, 
eating his way slowly across the grass, and his rider sat 
sideways, resting his elbows on his knees and staring 
at nothing particular, with that perfectly wooden ex- 
pression of his which indicated profound thought. 

But his senses were acutely awake, and he caught the 


CHAP. XII 


THE PRIMADONNA 


263 


distant sound of hoofs on the soft woodland path just 
a second before his horse lifted his head and pricked his 
ears. Mr. Van Torp did not slip to the ground, how- 
ever, and he hardly changed his position. Half a dozen 
young pheasants hurled themselves noisily out of the 
wood on the other side of the ruin, and scattered again 
as they saw him, to perch on the higher boughs of the 
trees not far off instead of settling on the sward. A 
moment later Lady Maud appeared, on a lanky and 
elderly thoroughbred that had been her own long before 
her marriage. Her old-fashioned habit was evidently 
of the same period too; it had been made before the 
modern age of skirted coats, and fitted her figure in a 
way that would have excited open disapproval and 
secret admiration in Rotten Row. But she never rode 
in town, so that it did not matter; and, besides, Lady 
Maud did not care. 

Mr. Van Torp raised his hat in a very un-English way, 
and at the same time, apparently out of respect for his 
friend, he went so far as to change his seat a little by 
laying his right knee over the pommel and sticking his 
left foot into the stirrup, so that he sat like a woman. 
Lady Maud drew up on his off side and they shook 
hands. 

‘You look rather comfortable/ she said, and the 
happy ripple was in her voice. 

‘Why, yes. There's nothing else to sit on, and the 
grass is wet. Do you want to get off?' 

‘I thought we might make some tea presently/ an- 
swered Lady Maud. ‘I've brought my basket.' 


264 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XII 


‘Now I call that quite sweet !’ Mr. Van Torp seemed 
very much pleased, and he looked down at the shabby 
little brown basket hanging at her saddle. 

He slipped to the ground, and she did the same before 
he could go round to help her. The old thoroughbred 
nosed her hand as if expecting something good, and she 
produced a lump of sugar from the tea-basket and gave 
it to him. 

Mr. Van Torp pulled a big carrot from the pocket of 
his tweed jacket and let his horse bite it off by inches. 
Then he took the basket from Lady Maud and the two 
went towards the ruin. 

‘We can sit on the Earl/ said Lady Maud, advancing 
towards a low tomb on which was sculptured a recum- 
bent figure in armour. ‘The horses won’t run away 
from such nice grass.’ 

So the two installed themselves on each side of the 
stone knight’s armed feet, which helped to support the 
tea-basket, and Lady Maud took out her spirit-lamp 
and a saucepan that just held two cups, and a tin bottle 
full of water, and all the other things, arranging them 
neatly in order. 

‘How practical women are!’ exclaimed Mr. Van Torp, 
looking on. ‘Now I would never have thought of that.’ 

But he was really wondering whether she expected 
him to speak first of the grave matters that brought 
them together in that lonely place. 

‘I’ve got some bread and butter/ she said, opening 
a small sandwich-box, ‘and there is a lemon instead of* 
cream.’ 


CHAP. XII 


THE PRIMADONNA 


265 


‘Your arrangements beat Hare Court hollow/ ob- 
served the millionaire. ‘ Do you remember the cracked 
cups and the weevilly biscuits?’ 

‘Yes, and how sorry you were when you had burnt 
the little beasts! Now light the spirit-lamp, please, 
and then we can talk/ 

Everything being arranged to her satisfaction, Lady 
Maud looked up at her companion. 

‘Are you going to do anything about it?’ she asked. 

‘Will it do any good if I do? That’s the question.’ 

‘Good? What is good in that sense?’ She looked 
at him a moment, but as he did not answer she went on. 
‘I cannot bear to see you abused in print like this, day 
after day, when I know the truth, or most of it.’ 

‘It doesn’t matter about me. I’m used to it. What 
does your father say?’ 

‘He says that when a man is attacked as you are, it’s 
his duty to defend himself.’ 

‘Oh, he does, does he?’ 

Lady Maud smiled, but shook her head in a reproach- 
ful way. 

‘You promised me that you would never give me your 
business answer, you know!’ 

‘I’m sorry,’ said Mr. Van Torp, in a tone of contrition. 
‘Well, you see, I forgot you weren’t a man. I won’t 
do it again. So your father thinks I’d better come out 
flat-footed with a statement to the press. Now, I’ll 
tell you. I’d do so, if I didn’t feel sure that all this 
circus about me isn’t the real thing yet. It’s been 
got up with an object, and until I can make out what’s 


266 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XII 


coming I think I’d best keep still. Whoever ’s at the 
root of this is counting on my losing my temper and hit- 
ting out, and saying things, and then the real attack 
will come from an unexpected quarter. Do you see 
that? Under the circumstances, almost any man in 
my position would get interviewed and talk back, 
wouldn’t he?’ 

‘I fancy so/ answered Lady Maud. 

‘ Exactly. If I did that, I might be raising against 
another man’s straight flush, don’t you see? A good 
way in a fight is never to do what everybody else would 
do. But I’ve got a scheme for getting behind the other 
man, whoever he is, and I’ve almost concluded to try it.’ 

‘Will you tell me what it is?’ 

‘Don’t I always tell you most things?’ 

Lady Maud smiled at the reservation implied in 
‘most.’ 

‘After all you have done for me, I should have no 
right to complain if you never told me anything,’ she 
answered. ‘Do as you think best. You know that 
I trust you.’ 

‘That’s right, and I appreciate it,’ answered the 
millionaire. ‘In the first place, you’re not going to be 
divorced. I suppose that’s settled.’ 

Lady Maud opened her clear eyes in surprise. 

‘You didn’t know that, did you?’ asked Mr. Van 
Torp, enjoying her astonishment. 

‘Certainly not, and I can hardly believe it/ she 
answered. 

‘Look here, Maud/ said her companion, bending his 


CIIAP. XII 


THE PRIMADONNA 


267 


heavy brows in a way very unusual with him, 'do you 
seriously think I’d let you be divorced on my account? 
That I’d allow any human being to play tricks with 
your good name by coupling it with mine in any sort of 
way? If I were the kind of man about whom you had 
a right to think that, I wouldn’t deserve your friendship.’ 

It was not often that Rufus Van Torp allowed his 
face to show feeling, but the look she saw in his rough- 
hewn features for a moment almost frightened her. 
There was something Titanic in it. 

'No, Rufus — no!’ she cried, earnestly. 'You know 
how I have believed in you and trusted you! It’s only 
that I don’t see how ’ 

'That’s a detail,’ answered the American. 'The 
"how” don’t matter when a man’s in earnest.’ The 
look was gone again, for her words had appeased him 
instantly. 'Well/ he went on, in his ordinary tone, 
'you can take it for granted that the divorce will come 
to nothing. There’ll be a clear statement in all the best 
papers next week, saying that your husband’s suit for a 
divorce has been dismissed with costs because there is 
not the slightest evidence of any kind against you. It 
will be stated that you came to my partner’s chambers 
in Hare Court on a matter of pure business, to receive 
certain money, which was due to you from me in the 
way of business, for which you gave me the usual busi- 
ness acknowledgment. So that’s that! I had a wire 
yesterday to say it’s as good as settled. The water’s 
boiling.’ 

The steam was lifting the lid of the small saucepan, 


268 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XII 


which stood securely on the spirit-lamp between the 
marble knight’s greaved shins. But Lady Maud took 
no notice of it. 

‘It’s like you,’ said she. ‘I cannot find anything 
else to say!’ 

‘It doesn’t matter about saying anything,’ returned 
Mr. Van Torp. ‘The water’s boiling.’ 

‘Will you blow out the lamp?’ As she spoke she 
dropped a battered silver tea-ball into the water, and 
moved it about by its fit tie chain. 

Mr. Van Torp took off his hat, and bent down side- 
ways till his flat cheek rested on the knight’s stone shin, 
and he blew out the flame with one well-aimed puff. 
Lady Maud did not look at the top of his head, nor steal 
a furtive glance at the strong muscles and sinews of his 
solid neck. She did nothing of the kind. She bobbed 
the tea-ball up and down in the saucepan by its chain, 
and watched how the hot water turned brown. 

‘ But I did not give you a ‘ ‘ business acknowledgment,” 
as you call it,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘It’s not quite 
truthful to say I did, you know.’ 

‘Does that bother you? All right.’ 

He produced his well-worn pocket-book, found a scrap 
of white paper amongst the contents, and laid it on the 
leather. Then he took his pencil and wrote a few words. 

‘Received of R. Van Torp £4100 to balance of account.’ 

He held out the pencil, and laid the pocket-book on 
his palm for her to write. She read the words with 
out moving. 

‘“To balance of account” — what does that mean?' 


CHAP. XII 


THE PRIMADONNA 


269 


‘It means that it’s a business transaction. At the 
time you couldn’t make any further claim against me. 
That’s all it means.’ 

He put the pencil to the paper again, and wrote the 
date of the meeting in Hare Court. 

‘There! If you sign your name to that, it just means 
that you had no further claim against me on that day. 
You hadn’t, anyway, so you may just as well sign!’ 

He held out the paper, and Lady Maud took it with 
a smile and wrote her signature. 

‘Thank you,’ said Mr. Van Torp. ‘Now you’re 
quite comfortable, I suppose, for you can’t deny that 
you have given me the usual business acknowledgment. 
The other part of it is that I don’t care to keep that 
kind of receipt long, so I just strike a match and burn 
it.’ He did so, and watched the flimsy scrap turn black 
on the stone knight’s knee, till the gentle breeze blew 
the ashes away. ‘So there!’ he concluded. ‘If you 
were called upon to swear in evidence that you signed 
a proper receipt for the money, you couldn’t deny it, 
could you? A receipt’s good if given at any time 
after the money has been paid. What’s the matter? 
Why do you look as if you doubted it? What is truth, 
anyhow? It’s the agreement of the facts with the state- 
ment of them, isn’t it? Well, I don’t see but the state- 
ment coincides with the facts all right now.’ 

Wdiile he had been talking Lady Maud had poured 
out the tea, and had cut some thin slices from the 
lemon, glancing at him incredulously now and then, 
but smiling in spite of herself. 


270 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XII 


‘ That’s all sophistry/ she said, as she handed him 
his cup. 

‘ Thanks/ he answered, taking it from her. ‘Look 
here! Can you deny that you have given me a formal 
dated receipt for four thousand one hundred pounds?’ 

‘No ’ 

‘Well, then, what can’t be denied is the truth; and if 
I choose to publish the truth about you, I don’t sup- 
pose you can find fault with it.’ 

‘No, but ’ 

‘Excuse me for interrupting, but there is no “but.” 
What’s good in law is good enough for me, and the 
Attorney-General and all his angels couldn’t get behind 
that receipt now, if they tried till they were black in 
the face.’ 

Mr. Van Torp’s similes were not always elegant. 

‘Tip-top tea/ he remarked, as Lady Maud did not 
attempt to say anything more. ‘That was a bright 
idea of yours, bringing the lemon, too.’ 

He took several small sips in quick succession, evi- 
dently appreciating the quality of the tea as a con- 
noisseur. 

‘I don’t know how you have managed to do it/ said 
Lady Maud at last. ‘As you say, the “how” does not 
matter very much. Perhaps it’s just as well that I 
should not know how you got at the Patriarch. I 
couldn’t be more grateful if I knew the whole story.’ 

‘There’s no particular story about it. When I found 
he was the man to be seen, I sent a man to see him. 
That’s all.’ 


CHAP. XII 


THE PRIMADONNA 


271 


'It sounds very simple/ said Lady Maud, whose 
acquaintance with American slang was limited, even 
after she had known Mr. Van Torp intimately for two 
years. 'You were going to tell me more. You said 
you had a plan for catching the real person who is re- 
sponsible for this attack on you.’ 

'Well, I have a sort of an idea, but I’m not quite sure 
how the land lays. By the bye/ he said quickly, cor- 
recting himself, 'isn’t that one of the things I say 
wrong? You told me I ought to say how the land 
"lies,” didn’t you? I always forget.’ 

Lady Maud laughed as she looked at him, for she was 
quite sure that he had only taken up his own mistake 
in order to turn the subject from the plan of which he 
did not mean to speak. 

'You know that I’m not in the least curious/ she 
said, 'so don’t waste any cleverness in putting me off! 
I only wish to know whether I can help you to carry 
out your plan. I had an idea too. I thought of get- 
ting my father to have a week-end party at Craythew, 
to which you would be asked, by way of showing people 
that he knows all about our friendship, and approves 
of it in spite of what my husband has been trying to do. 
Would that suit you? Would it help you or not?’ 

'It might come in nicely after the news about the 
divorce appears/ answered Mr. Van Torp approvingly. 
'It would be just the same if I went over to dinner 
every day, and didn’t sleep in the house, wouldn’t it?’ 

'I’m not sure/ Lady Maud said. 'I don’t think it 
would, quite. It might seem odd that you should dine 


272 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XII 


with us every day, whereas if you stop with us people 
cannot but see that my father wants you/ 

‘How about Lady Creedmore?’ 

‘My mother is on the continent. Why in the world 
do you not want to come? ’ 

‘Oh, I don’t know/ answered Mr. Van Torp vaguely. 
‘Just like that, I suppose. I was thinking. But it’ll 
be all right, and I’ll come any way, and please tell your 
father that I highly appreciate the kind invitation. 
When is it to be?’ 

‘Come on Thursday next week and stay till Tuesday. 
Then you will be there when the first people come and 
till the last have left. That will look even better/ 

‘Maybe they’ll say you take boarders/ observed Mr. 
Van Torp facetiously. ‘That other piece belongs to 
you.’ 

While talking they had finished their tea, and only 
one slice of bread and butter was left in the sandwich- 
box. 

‘No/ answered Lady Maud, ‘it’s yours. I took the 
first.’ 

‘Let’s go shares/ suggested the millionaire. 

‘There’s no knife.’ 

‘Break it.’ 

Lady Maud doubled the slice with conscientious 
accuracy, gently pulled the pieces apart at the crease, 
and held out one half to her companion. He took it as 
naturally as if they had been children, and they ate 
their respective shares in silence. As a matter of fact 
Mr. Van Torp had been unconsciously and instinctively 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XII 


273 


more interested in the accuracy of the division than in 
the very beautiful white fingers that performed it. 

‘Who are the other people going to be?’ he asked 
when he had finished eating, and Lady Maud was be- 
ginning to put the tea-things back into the basket. 

‘That depends on whom we can get. Everybody is 
awfully busy just now, you know. The usual sort of 
set, I suppose. You know the kind of people who come 
to us — you’ve met lots of them. I thought of asking 
Miss Donne if she is free. You know her, don’t you?’ 

‘Why, yes, I do. You’ve read those articles about 
our interview in New York, I suppose.’ 

Lady Maud, who had been extremely occupied with 
her own affairs of late, had almost forgotten the story, 
and was now afraid that she had made a mistake, but 
she caught at the most evident means of setting it 
right. 

‘Yes, of course. All the better, if you are seen stop- 
ping in the same house. People will see that it’s all 
right.’ 

‘Well, maybe they would. I’d rather, if it’ll do her 
any good. But perhaps she doesn’t want to meet me. 
She wasn’t over-anxious to talk to me on the steamer, 
I noticed, and I didn’t bother her much. She’s a lovely 
woman!’ 

Lady Maud looked at him, and her beautiful mouth 
twitched as if she wanted to laugh. 

‘Miss Donne doesn’t think you’re a “lovely” man at 
all,’ she said. 

‘No,’ answered Mr. Van Torp, in a tone of child-like 


274 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XII 


and almost sheepish regret, 'she doesn't, and I suppose 
she's right. I didn't know how to take her, or she 
wouldn't have been so angry.’ 

'When? Did you really ask her to marry you?’ 
Lady Maud was smiling now. 

'Why, yes, I did. Why shouldn’t I? I guess it 
wasn't very well done, though, and I was a fool to try 
and take her hand after she’d said no.’ 

'Oh, you tried to take her hand?’ 

'Yes, and the next thing I knew she’d rushed out of 
the room and bolted the door, as if I was a dangerous 
lunatic and she'd just found it out. That's what hap- 
pened — just that. It wasn't my fault if I was in 
earnest, I suppose.' 

'And just after that you were engaged to poor Miss 
Bamberger,’ said Lady Maud in a tone of reflection. 

'Yes,’ answered Mr. Van Torp slowly. 'Nothing 
mattered much just then, and the engagement was the 
business side. I told you about all that in Hare Court.’ 

'You’re a singular mixture of several people all in 
one! I shall never quite understand you.’ 

'Maybe not. But if you don’t, nobody else is likely 
to, and I mean to be frank to you every time. I sup- 
pose you think I’m heartless. Perhaps I am. I don’t 
know. You have to know about the business side 
sometimes; I wish you didn’t, for it’s not the side of 
myself I like best.’ 

The aggressive blue eyes softened a little as he spoke, 
and there was a touch of deep regret in his harsh voice. 

'No,’ answered Lady Maud, 'I don’t like it either. 


CHAP, xn 


THE PRIMADONNA 


275 


But you are not heartless. Don't say that of yourself, 
please — please don’t! You cannot fancy how it would 
hurt me to think that your helping me was only a rich 
man’s caprice, that because a few thousand pounds are 
nothing to you it amused you to throw the money away 
on me and my ideas, and that you would just as soon 
put it on a horse, or play with it at Monte Carlo!’ 

‘Well, you needn’t worry,’ observed Mr. Van Torp, 
smiling in a reassuring way. ‘I’m not given to throw- 
ing away money. In fact, the other people think I’m 
too much inclined to take it. And why shouldn’t I? 
People who don’t know how to take care of money 
shouldn’t have it. They do harm with it. It is right 
to take it from them since they can’t keep it and haven’t 
the sense to spend it properly. However, that’s the 
business side of me, and we won’t talk about it, unless 
you like.’ 

‘I don’t “like”!’ Lady Maud smiled too. 

‘Precisely. You’re not the business side, and you 
can have anything you like to ask for. Anything I’ve 
got, I mean.’ 

The beautiful hands were packing the tea-things. 

‘Anything in reason,’ suggested Lady Maud, looking 
into the shabby basket. 

‘I’m not talking about reason,’ answered Mr. Van 
Torp, gouging his waistcoat pockets with his thick 
thumbs, and looking at the top of her old grey felt hat 
as she bent her head. *1 don’t suppose I’ve done much 
good in my life, but maybe you’ll do some for me, 
because you understand those things and I don’t. Any- 


276 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XII 


how, you mean to, and I want you to, and that consti- 
tutes intention in both parties, which is the main thing 
in law. If it happens to give you pleasure, so much the 
better. That’s why I say you can have anything you 
like. It’s an unlimited order.’ 

‘ Thank you,’ said Lady Maud, still busy with the 
things. ‘I know you are in earnest, and if I needed 
more money I would ask for it. But I want to make 
sure that it is really the right way — so many people 
would not think it was, you know, and only time 
can prove that I’m not mistaken. There!’ She had 
finished packing the basket, and she fastened the lid 
regretfully. ‘I’m afraid we must be going. It was 
awfully good of you to come!’ 

‘Wasn’t it? I’ll be just as good again the day after 
to-morrow, if you’ll ask me!’ 

‘Will you?’ rippled the sweet voice pleasantly. 
‘Then come at the same time, unless it rains really 
hard. I’m not afraid of a shower, you know, and the 
arch makes a very fair shelter here. I never catch cold, 
either.’ 

She rose, taking up the basket in one hand and shak- 
ing down the folds of her old habit with the other. 

‘All the same, I’d bring a jacket next time if I were 
you,’ said her companion, exactly as her mother might 
have made the suggestion, and scarcely bestowing a 
glance on her almost too visibly perfect figure. 

The old thoroughbred raised his head as they crossed 
the sward, and made two or three steps towards her of 
his own accord. Her foot rested a moment on Mr. 


CHAP. XII 


THE PRIMADONNA 


277 


Van Torp’s solid hand, and she was in the saddle. The 
black was at first less disposed to be docile, but soon 
yielded at the sight of another carrot. Mr. Van Torp 
did not take the trouble to put his foot into the stirrup, 
but vaulted from the ground with no apparent effort. 
Lady Maud smiled approvingly, but not as a woman 
who loves a man and feels pride in him when he does 
anything very difficult. It merely pleased and amused 
her to see with what ease and indifference the rather 
heavily-built American did a thing which many a good 
English rider, gentleman or groom, would have found 
it hard to do at all. But Mr. Van Torp had ridden and 
driven cattle in California for his living before he had 
been twenty. 

He wheeled and came to her side, and held out his 
hand. 

‘Day after to-morrow, at the same time/ he said as 
she took it. ‘ Good-bye V 

‘Good-bye, and don’t forget Thursday!’ 

They parted and rode away in opposite directions, 
and neither turned, even once, to look back at the other. 


CHAPTER XIII 


The Elisir d’ Amove was received with enthusiasm, but 
the tenor had it all his own way, as Lushington had 
foretold, and when Pompeo Stromboli sang ‘Una furtiva 
lacrima’ the incomparable Cordova was for once eclipsed 
in the eyes of a hitherto faithful public. Covent Garden 
surrendered unconditionally. Metaphorically speaking, 
it roiled over on its back, with its four paws in the air, 
like a small dog that has got the worst of a fight and 
throws himself on the bigger dog’s mercy. 

Margaret was applauded, but as a matter of course. 
There was no electric thrill in the clapping of hands; 
she got the formal applause which is regularly given to 
the sovereign, but not the enthusiasm which is bestowed 
spontaneously on the conqueror. When she buttered 
her face and got the paint off, she was a little pale, and 
her eyes were not kind. It was the first time that she 
had not carried everything before her since she had 
begun her astonishing career, and in her first disappoint- 
ment she had not philosophy enough to console herself 
with the consideration that it would have been infinitely 
worse to be thrown into the shade by another lyric 
soprano, instead of by the most popular lyric tenor 
on the stage. She was also uncomfortably aware that 
Lushington had predicted what had happened, and she 
278 


CHAP. XIII 


THE PRIMADONNA 


279 


was informed that he had not even taken the trouble to 
come to the first performance of the opera. Logotheti, 
who knew everything about his old rival, had told her 
that Lushington was in Paris that week, and was going 
on to see his mother in Provence. 

The Primadonna was put out with herself and with 
everybody, after the manner of great artists when a per- 
formance has not gone exactly as they had hoped. The 
critics said the next morning that the Senorita da Cor- 
dova had been in good voice and had sung with excellent 
taste and judgment, but that was all: as if any decent 
soprano might not do as well! They wrote as if she 
might have been expected to show neither judgment 
nor taste, and as if she were threatened with a cold. 
Then they went on to praise Pompeo Stromboli with 
the very words they usually applied to her. His voice 
was full, rich, tender, vibrating, flexible, soft, powerful, 
stirring, natural, cultivated, superb, phenomenal, and 
perfectly fresh. The critics had a severe attack of 
‘adjectivitis.’ 

Paul Griggs had first applied the name to that inflam- 
mation of language to which many young writers are 
subject when cutting their literary milk-teeth, and from 
which musical critics are never quite immune. Mar- 
garet could no longer help reading what was written 
about her; that was one of the signs of the change that 
had come over her, and she disliked it, and sometimes 
despised herself for it, though she was quite unable to 
resist the impulse. The appetite for flattery which comes 
of living on it may be innocent, but it is never harmless. 


280 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XIII 


Dante consigned the flatterers to Inferno, and more par- 
ticularly to a very nasty place there: it is true that there 
were no musical critics in his day; but he does not say 
much about the flattered, perhaps because they suffer 
enough when they find out the truth, or lose the gift 
for which they have been over-praised. 

The Primadonna was in a detestably uncomfortable 
state of mind on the day after the performance of the 
revived opera. Her dual nature was hopelessly mixed; 
Cordova was in a rage with Stromboli, Schreiermeyer, 
Baci-Roventi, and the whole company, not to mention 
Signor Bambinelli the conductor, the whole orchestra, 
and the dead composer of the Elisir d? Amor e; but Mar- 
garet Donne was ashamed of herself for caring, and for 
being spoilt, and for bearing poor Lushington a grudge 
because he had foretold a result that was only to be 
expected with such a tenor as Stromboli; she despised 
herself for wickedly wishing that the latter had cracked 
on the final high note and had made himself ridiculous. 
But he had not cracked at all; in imagination she could 
hear the note still, tremendous, round, and persistently 
drawn out, as if it came out of a tenor trombone and had 
all the world’s lungs behind it. 

In her mortification Cordova was ready to give up 
lyric opera and study Wagner, in order to annihilate 
Pompeo Stromboli, who did not even venture Lohengrin. 

{ Schreiermeyer had unkindly told him that if he arrayed 
his figure in polished armour he would look like a silver 
teapot; and Stromboli was very sensitive to ridicule. 
Even if he had possessed a dramatic voice, he could 


CHAP. XIII 


THE PRIMADONNA 


281 


never have bounded about the stage in pink tights and 
the exiguous skin of an unknown wild animal as Siegfried, 
and in the flower scene of Parsifal he would have looked 
like Falstaff in The Merry Wives of Windsor. But Cor- 
dova could have made herself into a stately Brunhilde, 
a wild and lovely Kundry, or a fair and fateful Isolde, 
with the very least amount of artificial aid that theatrical 
illusion admits. 

Margaret Donne, disgusted with Cordova, said that 
her voice was about as well adapted for one of those 
parts as a sick girl’s might be for giving orders at sea in 
a storm. Cordova could not deny this, and fell back 
upon the idea of having an opera written for her, ex- 
pressly to show off her voice, with a crescendo trill in 
every scene and a high D at the end; and Margaret 
Donne, who loved music for its own sake, was more dis- 
gusted than ever, and took up a book in order to get 
rid of her professional self, and tried so hard to read that 
she almost gave herself a headache. 

Pompeo Stromboli was really the most sweet-tem- 
pered creature in the world, and called during the after- 
noon with the idea of apologising for having eclipsed 
her, but was told that she was resting and would see 
no one. Fraulein Ottilie Braun also came, and Mar- 
garet would probably have seen her, but had not given 
any special orders, so the kindly little person trotted off, 
and Margaret knew nothing of her coming; and the day 
wore on quickly; and when she wanted to go out, it at 
once began to rain furiously; and, at last, in sheer 
impatience at everything, she telephoned to Logotheti, 


282 


THE PRIMADONNA 


chap, xm 


asking him to come and dine alone with her if he felt 
that he could put up with her temper, which, she ex- 
plained, was atrocious. She heard the Greek laugh 
gaily at the other end of the wire. 

‘Will you come?’ she asked, impatient that anybody 
should be in a good humour when she was not. 

‘I'll come now, if you’ll let me/ he answered readily. 

‘No. Come to dinner at half-past eight. 7 She waited 
a moment and then went on. ‘I’ve sent down word 
that I’m not at home for any one, and I don’t like to 
make you the only exception.’ 

‘Oh, I see/ answered Logotheti’s voice. ‘But I’ve 
always wanted to be the only exception. I say, does 
half-past eight mean a quarter past nine?’ 

‘No. It means a quarter past eight, if you like. 
Good-bye ! ’ 

She cut off the communication abruptly, being a little 
afraid that if she let him go on chattering any longer she 
might yield and allow him to come at once. In her 
solitude she was intensely bored by her own bad temper, 
and was nearer to making him the ‘only exception’ than 
she had often been of late. She said to herself that he 
always amused her, but in her heart she was conscious 
that he was the only man in the world who knew how 
to flatter her back into a good temper, and would take 
the trouble to do so. It was better than nothing to look 
forward to a pleasant evening, and she went back to her 
novel and her cup of tea already half reconciled with 
life. 

It rained almost without stopping. At times it 


CHAP. XIII 


THE PRIMADONNA 


283 


poured, which really does not happen often in much- 
abused London ; but even heavy rain is not so depressing 
in spring as it is in winter, and when the Primadonna 
raised her eyes from her book and looked out of the big 
window, she was not thinking of the dreariness outside 
but of what she should wear in the evening. To tell 
the truth, she did not often trouble herself much about 
that matter when she was not going to sing, and all 
singers and actresses who habitually play ' costume 
parts' are conscious of looking upon stage-dressing and 
ordinary dressing from totally different points of view. 
By far the larger number of them have their stage clothes 
made by a theatrical tailor, and only an occasional 
eccentric celebrity goes to Worth or Doucet to be dressed 
for a ' Juliet,' a 'Tosca,' or a 'Dona Sol.' 

Margaret looked at the rain and decided that Logo- 
theti should not find her in a tea-gown, not because it 
would look too intimate, but because tea-gowns suggest 
weariness, the state of being misunderstood, and a crav- 
ing for sympathy. A woman who is going to surrender 
to fate puts on a tea-gown, but a well-fitting body indi- 
cates strength of character and virtuous firmness. 

I remember a smart elderly Frenchwoman who always 
bestowed unusual care on every detail of her dress, 
visible and invisible, before going to church. Her niece 
was in the room one Sunday while she was dressing for 
church, and asked why she took so much trouble. 

'My dear,' was the answer, 'Satan is everywhere, and 
one can never know what may happen.' 

Margaret was very fond of warm greys, and fawn 


284 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XIII 


tints, and dove colour, and she had lately got a very 
pretty dress that was exactly to her taste, and was 
made of a newly invented thin material of pure silk, 
which had no sheen and cast no reflections of light, and 
was slightly elastic, so that it fitted as no ordinary silk 
or velvet ever could. Alphonsine called the gown a 
‘legend/ but a celebrated painter who had lately seen 
it said it was an 'Indian twilight/ which might mean 
anything, as Paul Griggs explained, because there is no 
twilight to speak of in India. The dress-maker who 
had made it called the colour ‘fawn’s stomach/ which 
was less poetical, and the fabric, ‘veil of nun in love/ 
which showed little respect for monastic institutions. 
As for the way in which the dress was made, it is folly 
to rush into competition with tailors and dressmakers, 
who know what they are talking about, and are able to 
say things which nobody can understand. 

The plain fact is that the Primadonna began to dress 
early, out of sheer boredom, had her thick brown hair 
done in the most becoming way in spite of its natural 
waves, which happened to be unfashionable just then, 
and she put on the new gown with all the care and con- 
sideration which so noble a creation deserved. 

‘Madame is adorable/ observed Alphonsine. ‘Ma- 
dame is a dream. Madame has only to lift her little 
finger, and kings will fall into ecstasy before her.’ 

‘That would be very amusing/ said Margaret, look- 
ing at herself in the glass, and less angry with the 
world than she had been. ‘I have never seen a king in 
ecstasy.’ 


CHAP. XIII 


THE PRIMADONNA 


285 


‘The fault is Madame’s,’ returned Alphonsine, possibly 
with truth. 

When Margaret went into the drawing-room Logo- 
theti was already there, and she felt a thrill of pleasure 
when his expression changed at sight of her. It is not 
easy to affect the pleased surprise which the sudden 
appearance of something beautiful brings into the face 
of a man who is not expecting anything unusual. 

‘Oh, I say ! 7 exclaimed the Greek. ‘Let me look at 
you!’ 

And instead of coming forward to take her hand, he 
stepped back in order not to lose anything of the wonder- 
ful effect by being too near. Margaret stood still and 
smiled in the peculiar way which is a woman’s equivalent 
for a cat’s purring. Then, to Logotheti’s still greater 
delight, she slowly turned herself round, to be admired, 
like a statue on a pivoted pedestal, quite regardless of a 
secret consciousness that Margaret Donne would not 
have done such a thing for him, and probably not for 
any other man. 

‘You’re really too utterly stunning!’ he cried. 

In moments of enthusiasm he sometimes out-Englished 
Englishmen. 

‘I’m glad you like it,’ Margaret said. ‘This is the 
first time I’ve worn it.’ 

‘If you put it on for me, thank you! If not, thank 
you for putting it on! I’m not asking, either. I should 
think you would wear it if you were alone for the mere 
pleasure of feeling like a goddess.’ 

‘You’re very nice!’ 


286 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP/ XIII 


She was satisfied, and for a moment she forgot Pompeo 
Stromboli, the Elisir d' Amor e, the pubhc, and the critics. 
It was particularly ‘ nice ’ of him, too, not to insist upon 
being told that she had put on the new creation solely 
for his benefit. Next to not assuming rashly that a 
woman means anything of the sort expressly for him, 
it is wise of a man to know when she really does, without 
being told. At least, so Margaret thought just then; 
but it is true that she wanted him to amuse her and was 
willing to be pleased. 

She executed the graceful swaying movement which 
only a well-made woman can make just before sitting 
down for the first time in a perfectly new gown. It is a 
slightly serpentine motion; and as there is nothing to 
show that Eve did not meet the Serpent again after she 
had taken to clothes, she may have learnt the trick from 
him. There is certainly something diabolical about it 
when it is well done. 

Logotheti’s almond-shaped eyes watched her quietly, 
and he stood motionless till she was established on her 
chair. Then he seated himself at a little distance. 

‘I hope I was not rude/ he said, in artful apology, 
‘but it’s not often that one’s breath is taken away by 
what one sees. Horrid weather all day, wasn’t it? 
Have you been out at all?’ 

‘No. I’ve been moping. I told you that I was in a 
bad humour, but I don’t want to talk about it now that 
I feel better. What have you been doing? Tell me all 
sorts of amusing things, where you have been, whom 
you have seen, and what people said to you. 7 


CHAP. XIII 


THE PRIMADONNA 


287 


‘That might be rather dull/ observed the Greek. 

‘I don’t believe it. You are always in the thick of 
everything that’s happening.’ 

‘We have agreed to-day to lend Russia some more 
money. But that doesn’t interest you, does it? There’s 
to be a European conference about the Malay pirates, 
but there’s nothing very funny in that. It would be 
more amusing to hear the pirates’ view of Europeans. 
Let me see. Some one has discovered a conspiracy in 
Italy against Austria, and there is another in Austria 
against the Italians. They are the same old plots that 
were, discovered six months ago, but people had for- 
gotten about them, so they are as good as new. Then 
there is the sad case of that Greek.’ 

‘What Greek? I’ve not heard about that. What 
has happened to him?’ 

‘Oh, nothing much. It’s only a love-story — the 
same old thing.’ 

‘Tell me.’ 

‘Not now, for we shall have to go to dinner just when 
I get to the most thrilling part of it, I’m sure.’ Logo- 
theti laughed. ‘And besides/ he added, ‘the man isn’t 
dead yet, though he’s not expected to live. I’ll tell you 
about your friend Mr. Feist instead. He has been very 
ill too.’ 

‘I would much rather know about the Greek love- 
story/ Margaret objected. ‘I never heard of Mr. Feist.’ 

She had quite forgotten the man’s existence, but 
Logotheti recalled to her memory the circumstances 
under which they had met, and Feist’s unhealthy face 


288 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XIII 


with its absurdly youthful look, and what he had said 
aboul^having been at the Opera in New York on the 
night of the explosion. 

‘Why do you tell me all this?’ Margaret asked. ‘He 
was a disgusting-looking man, and I never wish to see 
him again. Tell me about the Greek. When we go to 
dinner you can finish the story in French. We spoke 
French the first time we met, at Madame Bonanni’s. 
Do you remember? ’ 

‘Yes, of course I do. But I was telling you about 
Mr. Feist ’ 

‘Dinner is ready/ Margaret said, rising as the ser- 
vant opened the door. 

To her surprise the man came forward. He said that 
just as he was going to announce dinner Countess Leven 
had telephoned that she was dining out, and would after- 
wards stop on her way to the play in the hope of seeing 
Margaret for a moment. She had seemed to be in a 
hurry, and had closed the communication before the 
butler could answer. And dinner was served, he added. 

Margaret nodded carelessly, and the two went into 
the dining-room. Lady Maud could not possibly come 
before half-past nine, and there was plenty of time to 
decide whether she should be admitted or not. 

‘Mr. Feist has been very ill/ Logo the ti said as they 
sat down to table under the pleasant light, ‘and I have 
been taking care of him, after a fashion/ 

Margaret raised her eyebrows a little, for she was 
beginning to be annoyed at his persistency, and was 
not much pleased at the prospect of Lady Maud’s visit. 


CHAP. XIII 


THE PRIMADONNA 


289 


‘How very odd!’ she said, rather coldly. ‘I cannot 
imagine anything more disagreeable.’ 

‘It has been very unpleasant/ Logotheti answered, 
‘but he seemed to have no particular friends here, and 
he was all alone at an hotel, and really very ill. So I 
volunteered.’ 

‘I’ve no objection to being moderately sorry for a 
young man who falls ill at an hotel and has no friends/ 
Margaret said, ‘but are you going in for nursing? Is 
that your latest hobby? It’s a long way from art, and 
even from finance!’ 

‘Isn’t it?’ 

‘ Yes. I’m beginning to be curious ! ’ 

‘I thought you would be before long/ Logotheti 
answered coolly, but suddenly speaking French. ‘One 
of the most delightful things in life is to have one’s 
curiosity roused and then satisfied by very slow degrees! ’ 

‘Not too slow, please. The interest might not last 
to the end.’ 

‘Oh yes, it will, for Mr. Feist plays a part in your 
life.’ 

‘About as distant as Voltaire’s Chinese Mandarin, I 
fancy/ Margaret suggested. 

‘Nearer than that, though I did not guess it when I 
went to see him. In the first place, it was owing to you 
that I went to see him the first time.’ 

‘Nonsense!’ 

‘Not at all. Everything that happens to me is con- 
nected with you in some way. I came to see you late 
in the afternoon, on one of your off-days not long ago, 


290 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XIII 


hoping that you would ask me to dine, but you were 
across the river at Lord Creedmore’s. I met old Griggs 
at your door, and as we walked away he told me that 
Mr. Feist had fallen down in a fit at a club, the night 
before, and had been sent home in a cab to the Carlton. 
As I had nothing to do, worth doing, I went to see him. 
If you had been at home, I should never have gone. 
That is what I mean when I say that you were the cause 
of my going to see him.' 

‘In the same w^ay, if you had been killed by a motor- 
car as you went away from my door, I should have been 
the cause of your death!’ 

‘You will be in any case/ laughed Logotheti, ‘but 
that’s a detail! I found Mr. Feist in a very bad way.’ 

‘What was the matter with him?’ asked Margaret. 

‘He was committing suicide,’ answered the Greek with 
the utmost calm. ‘ If I were in Constantinople I should 
tell you that this turbot is extremely good, but as we 
are in London I suppose it would be very bad manners 
to say so, wouldn’t it? So I am thinking it.’ 

‘Take the fish for granted, and tell me more about 
Mr. Feist!’ 

‘I found him standing before the glass with a razor 
in his hand and quite near his throat. When he saw me 
he tried to laugh and said he was just going to shave; I 
asked him if he generally shaved without soap and water, 
and he burst into tears.’ 

‘That’s rather dreadful,’ observed Margaret. ‘What 
did you do?’ 

‘I saved his life, but I don’t think he’s very grateful 


CHAP. XIII 


THE PRIMADONNA 


291 


yet. Perhaps he may be by and by. When he stopped 
sobbing he tried to kill me for hindering his destruction, 
but I had got the razor in my pocket, and his revolver 
missed fire. That was lucky, for he managed to stick 
the muzzle against my chest and pull the trigger just 
as I got him down. I wished I had brought old Griggs 
with me, for they say he can bend a good horse-shoe 
double, even now, and the fellow had the strength of a 
lunatic in him. It was rather lively for a few seconds, 
and then he broke down again, and was as limp as a rag, 
and trembled with fright, as if he saw queer things in the 
room. ' 

'You sent for a doctor then?' 

'My own, and we took care of him together that night. 
You may laugh at the idea of my having a doctor, as 
I never was ill in my life. I have him to dine with me 
now and then, because he is such good company, and is 
the best judge of a statue or a picture I know. The 
habit of taking the human body to pieces teaches you 
a great deal about the shape of it, you see. In the morn- 
ing we moved Mr. Feist from the hotel to a small private 
hospital where cases of that sort are treated. Of course 
he was perfectly helpless, so we packed his belongings 
and papers.' 

'It was really very kind of you to act the Good Sa- 
maritan to a stranger,' Margaret said, but her tone 
showed that she was disappointed at the tame ending 
of the story. 

'No,' Logo the ti answered. 'I was never consciously 
kind, as you call it. It's not a Greek characteristic to 


292 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XIII 


love one’s neighbour as one’s self. Teutons, Anglo- 
Saxons, Latins, and, most of all, Asiatics, are charitable, 
but the old Greeks were not. I don’t believe you’ll find 
an instance of a charitable act in all Greek history, 
drama, and biography! If you did find one I should 
only say that the exception proves the rule. Charity 
was left out of us at the beginning, and we never could 
understand it, except as a foreign sentiment imported 
with Christianity from Asia. We have had every other 
virtue, including hospitality. In the Iliad a man de- 
clines to kill his enemy on the ground that their people 
had dined together, which is going rather far, but it is 
not recorded that any ancient Greek, even Socrates 
himself, ever felt pity or did an act of spontaneous kind- 
ness! I don’t believe any one has said that, but it’s 
perfectly true.’ 

'Then why did you take all that trouble for Mr. Feist?’ 

'I don’t know. People who always know why they 
do things are great bores. It was probably a caprice 
that took me to see him, and then it did not occur to 
me to let him cut his throat, so I took away his razor; 
and, finally, I telephoned for my doctor, because my 
misspent life has brought me into contact with Western 
civilisation. But when we began to pack Mr. Feist’s 
papers I became interested in him.’ 

' Do you mean to say that you read his letters? ’ Mar- 
garet inquired. 

'Why not? If I had let him kill himself, somebody 
would have read them, as he had not taken the trouble 
to destroy them!’ 


CHAP. XIII 


THE PRIMADONNA 


293 


‘That’s a singular point of view/ 

‘So was Mr. Feist’s, as it turned out. I found enough 
to convince me that he is the writer of all those articles 
about Van Torp, including the ones in which you are 
mentioned. The odd thing about it is that I found a 
very friendly invitation from Van Torp himself, begging 
Mr. Feist to go down to Derbyshire and stop a week 
with him.’ 

Margaret leaned back in her chair and looked at her 
guest in quiet surprise. 

‘What does that mean?’ she asked. ‘Is it possible 
that Mr. Van Torp has got up this campaign against 
himself in order to play some trick on the Stock Ex- 
change?’ 

Logotheti smiled and shook his head. 

‘That’s not the way such things are usually managed,’ 
he answered. ‘A hundred years ago a publisher paid 
a critic to attack a book in order to make it succeed, 
but in finance abuse doesn’t contribute to our success, 
which is always a question of credit. All these scurrilous 
articles have set the public very much against Van Torp, 
from Paris to San Francisco, and this man Feist is re- 
sponsible for them. He is either insane, or he has some 
grudge against Van Torp, or else he has been somebody’s 
instrument, which looks the most probable.’ 

‘What did you find amongst his papers?’ Margaret 
asked, quite forgetting her vicarious scruples about 
reading a sick man’s letters. 

‘A complete set of the articles that have appeared, all 
neatly filed, and a great many notes for more, besides 


294 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XIII 


a lot of stuff written in cypher. It must be a diary, 
for the days are written out in full and give the days of 
the week.’ 

'I wonder whether there was anything about the 
explosion/ said Margaret thoughtfully. 'He said he 
was there, did he not?’ 

'Yes. Do you remember the day?’ 

'It was a Wednesday, I'm sure, and it was after the 
middle of March. My maid can tell us, for she writes 
down the date and the opera in a little book each time 
I sing. It’s sometimes very convenient. But it’s too 
late now, of course, and, besides, you could not have 
read the cypher.' 

'That's an easy matter,' Logotheti answered. 'All 
cyphers can be read by experts, if there is no hurry, 
except the mechanical ones that are written through 
holes in a square plate which you turn round till the 
sheet is full. Hardly any one uses those now, because 
when the square is raised the letters don't form words, 
and the cable companies will only transmit real words 
in some known language, or groups of figures. The diary 
is written hastily, too, not at all as if it were copied from 
the sheet on which the perforated plate would have had 
to be used, and besides, the plate itself would be amongst 
his things, for he could not read his own notes without 
it.' 

'All that doesn't help us, as you have not the diary, 
but I should really be curious to know what he had to 
say about the accident, since some of the articles hint 
that Mr. Van Torp made it happen.' 


CHAP. XIII 


THE PRIMADONNA 


295 


'My doctor and I took the liberty of confiscating the 
papers, and we set a very good man to work on the 
cypher at once. So your curiosity shall be satisfied. 
I said it should, didn’t I? And you are not so dread- 
fully bored after all, are you? Do say that I’m very 
nice!’ 

'I won’t!’ Margaret answered with a little laugh. 
‘I’ll only admit that I’m not bored! But wasn’t it 
rather a high-handed proceeding to carry off Mr. Feist 
like that, and to seize his papers?’ 

‘ Do you call it high-handed to keep a man from cutting 
his throat?’ 

‘But the letters ?’ 

‘I really don’t know. I had not time to ask a lawyer’s 
opinion, and so I had to be satisfied with my doctor’s.’ 

‘Are you going to tell Mr. Van Torp what you’ve 
done?’ 

‘I don’t know. Why should I? You may if you like.’ 

Logotheti was eating a very large and excellent truffle, 
and after each short sentence he cut off a tiny slice and 
put it into his mouth. The Primadonna had already 
finished hers, and watched him thoughtfully. 

‘I’m not likely to see him,’ she said. ‘At least, I 
hope not!’ 

‘My interest in Mr. Feist,’ answered Logotheti, ‘begins 
and ends with what concerns you. Beyond that I 
don’t care a straw what happens to Mr. Van Torp, or 
to any one else. To all intents and purposes I have got 
the author of the stories locked up, for a man who has 
consented to undergo treatment for dipsomania in a 


296 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XIII 


private hospital, by the advice of his friends and under 
the care of a doctor with a great reputation, is as really 
in prison as if he were in gaol. Legally, he can get out, 
but in real fact nobody will lift a hand to release him, 
because he is shut up for his own good and for the good 
of the public, just as much as if he were a criminal. 
Feist may have friends or relations in America, and they 
may come and claim him; but as there seems to be 
nobody in London who cares what becomes of him, it 
pleases me to keep him in confinement, because I mean 
to prevent any further mention of your name in con- 
nection with the Van Torp scandals.’ 

His eyes rested on Margaret as he spoke, and lin- 
gered afterwards, with a look that did not escape her. 
She had seen him swayed by passion, more than once, 
and almost mad for her, and she had been frightened 
though she had dominated him. What she saw in his 
face now was not that; it was more like affection, faith- 
ful and lasting, and it touched her English nature much 
more than any show of passion could. 

' Thank you/ she said quietly. 

They did not talk much more while they finished the 
short dinner, but when they were going back to the 
drawing-room Margaret took his arm, in foreign fashion, 
which she had never done before when they were alone. 
Then he stood before the mantelpiece and watched her 
in silence as she moved about the room; for she was one 
of those women who always find half a dozen little 
things to do as soon as they get back from dinner, and 
go from place to place, moving a reading lamp half an 


CHAP. XIII 


THE PRIMADONNA 


297 


inch farther from the edge of a table, shutting a book 
that has been left open on another, tearing up a letter 
that lies on the writing-desk, and slightly changing the 
angle at which a chair stands. It is an odd little mania, 
and the more people there are in the room the less the 
mistress of the house yields to it, and the more uncom- 
fortable she feels at being hindered from 1 tidying up the 
room/ as she probably calls it. 

Logotheti watched Margaret with keen pleasure, as 
every step and little movement showed her figure in a 
slightly different attitude and light, indiscreetly moulded 
in the perfection of her matchless gown. In less than 
two minutes she had finished her trip round the room 
and was standing beside him, her elbows resting on the 
mantelpiece, while she moved a beautiful Tanagra a little 
to one side and then to the other, trying for the twentieth 
time how it looked the best. 

1 There is no denying it/ Logotheti said at last, with 
profound conviction. ‘I do not care a straw what be- 
comes of any living creature but you.’ 

She did not turn her head, and her fingers still touched 
the Tanagra, but he saw the rare blush spread up the 
| cheek that was turned to him; and because she stopped 
! moving the statuette about, and looked at it intently, 
he guessed that she was not colouring from annoyance 
l at what he had said. She blushed so very seldom now, 
that it might mean much more than in the old days at 
! Versailles. 

'I did not think it would last so long/ she said gently, 
after a little while. 


298 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XIII 


‘ What faith can one expect of a Greek !’ 

He laughed, too wise in woman’s ways to be serious 
too long just then. But she shook her head and turned 
to him with the smile he loved. 

‘I thought it was something different/ she said. ‘I 
was mistaken. I believed you had only lost your head 
for a while, and would soon run after some one else. 
That’s all.’ 

‘ And the loss is permanent. That’s all ! ’ He laughed 
again as he repeated her words. ‘You thought it was 
“something different” — do you know that you are two 
people in one?’ 

She looked a little surprised. 

‘Indeed I do!’ she answered rather sadly. ‘Have 
you found it out?’ 

‘Yes. You are Margaret Donne and you are Cor- 
dova. I admire Cordova immensely, I am extremely 
fond of Margaret, and I’m in love with both. Oh yes! 
I’m quite frank about it, and it’s very unlucky, for 
whichever one of your two selves I meet I’m just as 
much in love as ever! Absurd, isn’t it?’ 

‘It’s flattering, at all events.’ 

‘If you ever took it into your handsome head to marry 
me — please, I’m only saying “if” — the absurdity 
would be rather reassuring, wouldn’t it? When a man is 
in love with two women at the same time, it really is a 
little unlikely that he should fall in love with a third!’ 

‘Mr. Griggs says that marriage is a drama which only 
succeeds if people preserve the unities!’ 

‘Griggs is always trying to coax the Djin back into 


CHAP. XIII 


THE PRIMADONNA 


299 


the bottle, like the fisherman in the Arabian Nights ,’ 
answered Logotheti. 'He has read Kant till he believes 
that the greatest things in the world can be squeezed 
into a formula of ten words, or nailed up amongst the 
Categories like a dead owl over a stable door. My 
intelligence, such as it is, abhors definitions ! ’ 

'So do I. I never understand them.’ 

'Besides, you can only define what you know from 
past experience and can reflect upon coolly, and that is 
not my position, nor yours either.’ 

Margaret nodded, but said nothing and sat down. 

'Do you want to smoke?’ she asked. 'You may, if 
you like. I don’t mind a cigarette.’ 

'No, thank you.’ 

'But I assure you I don’t mind it in the least. It 
never hurts my throat.’ 

'Thanks, but I really don’t want to.’ 

'I’m sure you do. Please ’ 

'Why do you insist? You know I never smoke when 
you are in the room.’ 

'I don’t like to be the object of little sacrifices that 
make people uncomfortable.’ 

'I’m not uncomfortable, but if you have any big 
sacrifice to suggest, I promise to offer it at once.’ 

'Unconditionally?’ Margaret smiled. 'Anything I 
ask?’ 

'Yes. Do you want my statue?’ 

'The Aphrodite? Would you give her to me?’ 

'Yes. May I telegraph to have her packed and 
brought here from Paris?’ 


300 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XIII 


He was already at the writing-table looking for a tele- 
graph form. Margaret watched his face, for she knew 
that he valued the wonderful statue far beyond all his 
treasures, both for its own sake and because he had 
nearly lost his life in carrying it off from Samos, as has 
been told elsewhere. 

As Margaret said nothing, he began to write the mes- 
sage. She really had not had any idea of testing his 
willingness to part with the thing he valued most, at her 
slightest word, and was taken by surprise; but it was 
impossible not to be pleased when she saw that he was 
in earnest. In her present mood, too, it restored her 
sense of power, which had been rudely shaken by the 
attitude of the public on the previous evening. 

It took some minutes to compose the message. 

‘ It’s only to save time by having the box ready / he said, 
as he rose with the bit of paper in his hand. ‘ Of course I 
shall see the statue packed myself and come over with it/ 

She saw his face clearly in the light as he came 
towards her, and there was no mistaking the unaffected 
satisfaction it expressed. He held out the telegram 
for her to read, but she would not take it, and she looked 
up quietly and earnestly as he stood beside her. 

‘Do you remember Delorges?’ she asked. ‘How the 
lady tossed her glove amongst the lions and bade him 
fetch it, if he loved her, and how he went in and got it — 
and then threw it in her face? I feel like her/ 

Logo the ti looked at her blankly. 

‘Do you mean to say you won’t take the statue?’ 
he asked in a disappointed tone. 


CHAP. XIII 


THE PRIMADONNA 


301 


‘No, indeed! I was taken by surprise when you went 
to the writing-table.’ 

‘You did not believe I was in earnest? Don’t you 
see that I’m disappointed now?’ His voice changed a 
little. ‘ Don’t you understand that if the world were 
mine I should want to give it all to you? ’ 

‘And don’t you understand that the wish may be * 
quite as much to me as the deed? That sounds com- 
monplace, I know. I would say it better if I could.’ 

She folded her hands on her knee, and looked at them 
thoughtfully while he sat down beside her. 

‘You say it well enough,’ he answered after a little 
pause. ‘The trouble lies there. The wish is all you 
will ever take. I have submitted to that; but if you 
ever change your mind, please remember that I have 
not changed mine. For two years I’ve done everything 
I can to make you marry me whether you would or not, 
and you’ve forgiven me for trying to carry you off against 
your will, and for several other things, but you are no 
nearer to caring for me ever so little than you were the 
first day we met. You “like” me! That’s the worst 
of it!’ 

‘I’m not so sure of that,’ Margaret answered, raising 
her eyes for a moment and then looking at her hands 
again. 

He turned his head slowly, but there was a startled 
look in his eyes. 

‘Do you feel as if you could hate me a little, for a 
change?’ he asked. 

‘No.’ 


302 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XIII 


‘ There’s only one other thing/ he said in a low voice. 

‘ Perhaps/ Margaret answered, in an even lower tone 
than his. Tm not quite sure to-day/ 

Logotheti had known her long, and he now resisted 
the strong impulse to reach out and take the hand she 
would surely have let him hold in his for a moment. 
She was not disappointed because he neither spoke nor 
moved, nor took any sudden advantage of her rather 
timid admission, for his silence made her trust him 
more than any passionate speech or impulsive action 
could have done. 

'I daresay I am wrong to tell you even that much/ 
she went on presently, ‘but I do so want to play fair. 
I’ve always despised women who camiot make up their 
minds whether they care for a man or not. But you 
have found out my secret; I am two people in one, and 
there are days when each makes the other dreadfully 
uncomfortable! You understand.’ 

‘And it’s the Cordova that neither likes me nor hates 
me just at this moment/ suggested Logotheti. ‘Mar- 
garet Donne sometimes hates me and sometimes likes 
me, and on some days she can be quite indifferent too! 
Is that it?’ 

‘Yes. That’s it.’ 

‘The only question is, which of you is to be mistress 
of the house/ said Logotheti, smiling, ‘and whether 
it is to be always the same one, or if there is to be a 
perpetual hide-and-seek between them!’ 

‘Box and Cox/ suggested Margaret, glad of the chance 
to say something frivolous just then. 


CHAP. XIII 


THE PRIMADONNA 


303 


'I should say Hera and Aphrodite/ answered the Greek, 
'if it did not look like comparing myself to Adonis ! 1 

'It sounds better than Box and Cox, but I have for- 
gotten my mythology/ 

‘Hera and Aphrodite agreed that each should keep 
Adonis one-third of the year, and that he should have 
the odd four months to himself. Now that you are the 
Cordova, if you could come to some such understanding 
about me with Miss Donne, it would be very satisfactory. 
But I am afraid Margaret does not want even a third 
of me!’ 

Logotheti felt that it was rather ponderous fun, but 
he was in such an anxious state that his usually ready 
wit did not serve him very well. For the first time since 
he had known her, Margaret had confessed that she 
might possibly fall in love with him; and after what had 
passed between them in former days, he knew that the 
smallest mistake on his part would now be fatal to the 
realisation of such a possibility. He was not afraid of 
being dull, or of boring her, but he was afraid of waken- 
ing against him the wary watchfulness of that side of 
her nature which he called Margaret Donne, as dis- 
tinguished from Cordova, of the ‘ English-girl ’ side, of 
the potential old maid that is dormant in every young 
northern foman until the day she marries, and wakes to 
torment her like a biblical devil if she does not. There is 
no miser like a reformed spendthrift, and no ascetic 
will go to such extremes of self-mortification as a con- 
verted libertine; in the same way, there are no such 
portentously virginal old maids as those who might have 


304 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XIH 


been the most womanly wives; the opposite is certainly 
true also, for the variety ‘ Hemiparthenos,’ studied after 
nature by Marcel Prevost, generally makes an utter 
failure of matrimony, and becomes, in fact, little better 
than a half-wife. 

Logotheti took it as a good sign that Margaret laughed 
at what he said. He was in the rather absurd position 
of wishing to leave her while she was in her present 
humour, lest anything should disturb it and destroy 
his advantage; yet, after what had just passed, it was 
next to impossible not to talk of her, or of himself. He 
had exceptionally good nerves, he was generally cool to 
a fault, and he had the daring that makes great financiers. 
But what looked like the most important crisis of his 
life had presented itself unexpectedly within a few 
minutes; a success which he reckoned far beyond all 
other successes was almost within his grasp, and he felt 
that he was unprepared. For the first time he did not 
know what to say to a woman. 

Happily for him, Margaret helped him unexpectedly. 

‘I shall have to see Lady Maud/ she said, ‘and you 
must either go when she comes or leave with her. I’m 
sorry, but you understand, don’t you?’ 

‘Of course. I’ll go a moment after she comes. When 
am I to see you again? To-morrow? You are not to 
sing again this week, are you?’ 

‘No,’ the Primadonna answered vaguely, ‘I believe 
not.’ 

She was thinking of something else. She was wonder- 
ing whether Logotheti would wish her to give up the 


CHAP. XIII 


THE PRIMADONNA 


305 


stage, if by any possibility she ever married him, and 
her thoughts led her on quickly to the consideration of 
what that would mean, and to asking herself what sort 
of sacrifice it would really mean to her. For the 
recollection of the Elisir d’Amore awoke and began to 
rankle again just then. 

Logo the ti did not press her for an answer, but watched 
her cautiously while her eyes were turned away from 
him. At that moment he felt like a tamer who had just 
succeeded in making a tiger give its paw for the first 
time, and has not the smallest idea whether the creature 
will do it again or bite off his head. 

She, on her side, being at the moment altogether the 
artist, was thinking that it would be pleasant to enjoy 
a few more triumphs, to make the tour of Europe with a 
company of her own — which is always the primadonna’s 
dream as it is the actress’s — and to leave the stage at 
twenty-five in a blaze of glory, rather than to risk one 
more performance of the opera she now hated. She 
knew quite well that it was not at all an impossibility. 
To please her, and with the expectation of marrying 
her in six months, Logotheti would cheerfully pay the 
large forfeit that would be due to Schreiermeyer if she 
broke her London engagement at the height of the sea- 
son, and the Greek financier would produce all the ready 
money necessary for getting together an opera company. 
The rest would be child’s play, she was sure, and she 
would make a triumphant progress through the capitals 
of Europe which should be remembered for half a century. 
After that, said the Primadonna to herself, she would 


306 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XIII 


repay her friend all the money he had lent her, and 
would then decide at her leisure whether she would 
marry him or not. For one moment her cynicism would 
have surprised even Schreiermeyer; the next, the Prima- 
donna herself was ashamed of it, quite independently 
of what her better self might have thought. 

Besides, it was certainly not for his money that her 
old inclination for Logotheti had begun to grow again. 
She could say so, truly enough, and when she felt sure 
of it she turned her eyes to see his face. 

She did not admire him for his looks, either. So far 
as appearance was concerned, she preferred Lushington, 
with his smooth hair and fair complexion. Logotheti 
was a handsome and showy Oriental, that was all, and 
she knew instinctively that the type must be common 
in the East. What attracted her was probably his dar- 
ing masculineness, which contrasted so strongly with 
Lushington’ s quiet and rather bashful manliness. The 
Englishman would die for a cause and make no noise 
about it, which would be heroic; but the Greek would 
run away with a woman he loved, at the risk of breaking 
his neck, which was romantic in the extreme. It is 
not easy to be a romantic character in the eyes of a lady 
who lives on the stage, and by it, and constantly gives 
utterance to the most dramatic sentiments at a pitch 
an octave higher than any one else; but Logotheti had 
succeeded. There never was a woman yet to whom 
that sort of thing has not appealed once; for one moment 
she has felt everything whirling with her as if the centre 
of gravity had gone mad, and the Ten Commandments 


CHAP, xm 


THE PRIMADONNA 


307 


might drop out of the solid family Bible and get lost. 
That recollection is probably the only secret of a virtu- 
ously colourless existence, but she hides it, like a treas- 
ure or a crime, until she is an old and widowed woman; 
and one day, at last, she tells her grown-up grand- 
daughter, with a far-away smile, that there was once a 
man whose eyes and voice stirred her strongly, and for 
whom she might have quite lost her head. But she 
never saw him again, and that is the end of the little 
story; and the tall girl in her first season thinks it 
rather dull. 

But it was not likely that the chronicle of Cordova's 
youth should come to such an abrupt conclusion. The 
man who moved her now had been near her too often, 
the sound of his voice was too easily recalled, and, since 
his rival's defection, he was too necessary to her; and, 
besides, he was as obstinate as Christopher Columbus. 

'Let me see,’ she said thoughtfully. 'There's a re- 
hearsal to-morrow morning. That means a late luncheon. 
Come at two o'clock, and if it's fine we can go for a little 
walk. Will you?' 

'Of course. Thank you.' 

He had hardly spoken the words when a servant 
opened the door and Lady Maud came in. She had not 
dropped the opera cloak she wore over her black velvet 
gown; she was rather pale, and the look in her eyes told 
that something was wrong, but her serenity did not seem 
otherwise affected. She kissed Margaret and gave her 
hand to Logotheti. 

'We dined early to go to the play,' she said, 'and as 


308 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XIII 


there’s a curtain-raiser, I thought I might as well take 
a hansom and join them later.’ 

She seated herself beside Margaret on one of those 
little sofas that are measured to hold two women when 
the fashions are moderate, and are wide enough for a 
woman and one man, whatever happens. Indeed they 
must be, since otherwise no one would tolerate them in 
a drawing-room. When two women instal themselves 
in one, and a man is present, it means that he is to 
go away, because they are either going to make con- 
fidences or are going to fight. 

Logotheti thought it would be simpler and more tact- 
ful to go at once, since Lady Maud was in a hurry , having 
stopped on her way to the play, presumably in the hope 
of seeing Margaret alone. To his surprise she asked 
him to stay; but as he thought she might be doing this 
out of mere civility he said he had an engagement. 

‘Will it keep for ten minutes?’ asked Lady Maud 
gravely. 

‘ Engagements of that sort are very convenient. They 
will keep any length of time.’ 

Logotheti sat down again, smiling, but he wondered 
what Lady Maud was going to say, and why she wished 
him to remain. 

‘It will save a note,’ she said, by way of explanation. 
‘My father and I want you to come to Craythew for the 
week-end after this,’ she continued, turning to Mar- 
garet. ‘We are asking several people, so it won’t be 
too awfully dull, I hope. Will you come?’ 

‘With pleasure,’ answered the singer. 


CHAP. XIII 


THE PRIMADONNA 


309 


' And you too? ’ Lady Maud looked at Logotheti. 

‘ Delighted — most kind of you/ he replied, somewhat 
surprised by the invitation, for he had never met Lord 
and Lady Creedmore. ‘May I take you down in my 
motor?’ he spoke to Margaret. ‘I think I can do it 
under four hours. I’m my own chauffeur, you know.’ 

‘Yes, I know,’ Margaret answered with a rather 
malicious smile. ‘No, thank you!’ 

‘Does he often kill?’ inquired Lady Maud coolly. 

‘I should be more afraid of a runaway,’ Margaret 
said. 

‘Get that new German brake,’ suggested Lady Maud, 
not understanding at all. ‘It’s quite the best I’ve seen. 
Come on Friday, if you can. You don’t mind meeting 
Mr. Van Torp, do you? He is our neighbour, you re- 
member.’ 

The question was addressed to Margaret, who made 
a slight movement and unconsciously glanced at Logo- 
theti before she answered. 

‘Not at all,’ she said. 

‘There’s a reason for asking him when there are other 
people. I’m not divorced after all — you had not heard? 
It will be in the Times to-morrow morning. The Patri- 
arch of Constantinople turns out to be a very sensible 
sort of person.’ 

‘He’s my uncle/ observed Logotheti. 

‘Is he? But that wouldn’t account for it, would it? 
He refused to believe what my husband called the evi- 
dence, and dismissed the suit. As the trouble was all 
about Mr. Van Torp my father wants people to see him 


310 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XIII 


at Craythew. That’s the story in a nutshell, and if any 
of you like me you’ll be nice to him.’ 

She leaned back in her corner of the little sofa and 
looked first at one and then at the other in an inquiring 
way, but as if she were fairly sure of the answer. 

'Every one likes you,’ said Logotheti quietly, 'and 
every one will be nice to him.’ 

'Of course,’ chimed in Margaret. 

She could say nothing else, though her intense dislike 
of the American millionaire almost destroyed the antici- 
pated pleasure of her visit to Derbyshire. 

'I thought it just as well to explain,’ said Lady Maud. 

She was still pale, and in spite of her perfect outward 
coolness and self-reliance her eyes would have betrayed 
her anxiety if she had not managed them with the un- 
conscious skill of a woman of the world who has some- 
thing very important to hide. Logotheti broke the 
short silence that followed her last speech. 

'I think you ought to know something I have been 
telling Miss Donne,’ he said simply. 'I’ve found the 
man who wrote all those articles, and I’ve locked him 
up.’ 

Lady Maud leaned forward so suddenly that her 
loosened opera-cloak slipped down behind her, leaving 
her neck and shoulders bare. Her eyes were wide open 
in her surprise, the pupils very dark. 

'Where?’ she asked breathlessly. 'Where is he? In 
prison?’ 

'In a more convenient and accessible place,’ answered 
the Greek. 


CHAP. XIII 


THE PRIMADONNA 


311 


He had known Lady Maud some time, but he had 
never seen her in the least disturbed, or surprised, or 
otherwise moved by anything. It was true that he had 
only met her in society. 

He told the story of Mr. Feist, as Margaret had heard 
it during dinner, and Lady Maud did not move, even to 
lean back in her seat again, till he had finished. She 
scarcely seemed to breathe, and Logotheti felt her steady 
gaze on him, and would have sworn that through all 
those minutes she did not even wink. When he ceased 
speaking she drew a long breath and sank back to her 
former attitude; but he saw that her white neck heaved 
suddenly again and again, and her delicate nostrils 
quivered once or twice. For a little while there was 
silence in the room. Then Lady Maud rose to go. 

'I must be going too/ said Logotheti. 

Margaret was a little sorry that she had given him 
such precise instructions, but did not contradict herself 
by asking him to stay longer. She promised Lady 
Maud again to be at Craythew on Friday of the next 
week if possible, and certainly on Saturday, and Lady 
Maud and Logotheti went out together. 

'Get in with me/ she said quietly, as he helped her 
into her hansom. 

He obeyed, and as he sat down she told the cabman 
to take her to the Haymarket Theatre. Logotheti ex- 
pected her to speak, for he was quite sure that she had 
not taken him with her without a purpose; the more so, 
as she had not even asked him where he was going. 

Three or four minutes passed before he heard her 


312 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XIII 


voice asking him a question, very low, as if she feared 
to be overheard. 

‘Is there any way of making that man tell the truth 
against his will? You have lived in the East, and you 
must know about such things.’ 

Logotheti turned his almond-shaped eyes slowly to- 
wards her, but he could not see her face well, for it was 
not very light in the broad West End street. She was 
white; that was all he could make out. But he under- 
stood what she meant. 

‘There is a way/ he answered slowly and almost 
sternly. ‘Why do you ask?’ 

‘ Mr . Van Torp is going to be accused of murder. That 
man knows who did it. Will you help me?’ 

It seemed an age before the answer to her whispered 
question came. 

‘Yes/ 


CHAPTER XIV 


When Logotheti and his doctor had taken Mr. Feist 
away from the hotel, to the no small satisfaction of the 
management, they had left precise instructions for for- 
warding the young man’s letters and for informing his 
friends, if any appeared, as to his whereabouts. But 
Logotheti had not given his own name. 

Sir Jasper Threlfall had chosen for their patient a 
private establishment in Ealing, owned and managed 
by a friend of his, a place for the treatment of morphia 
mania, opium-eating, and alcoholism. 

To all intents and purposes, as Logotheti had told 
Margaret, Charles Feist might as well have been in gaol. 
Every one knows how indispensable it is that persons 
1 who consent to be cured of drinking or taking opium, 
i or whom it is attempted to cure, should be absolutely 
isolated, if only to prevent weak and pitying friends 
from yielding to their heart-rending entreaties for the 
| favourite drug and bringing them ‘just a little’; for 
their eloquence is often extraordinary, and their in- 
genuity in obtaining what they want is amazing. 

So Mr. Feist was shut up in a pleasant room provided 
with double doors and two strongly barred windows 
that overlooked a pretty garden, beyond which there 
was a high brick wall half covered by a bright creeper, 
313 


314 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XIV 


then just beginning to flower. The walls, the doors, 
the ceiling, and the floor were sound-proof, and the 
garden could not in any way be reached without passing 
through the house. 

As only male patients were received, the nurses and 
attendants were all men; for the treatment needed 
more firmness and sometimes strength than gentleness. 
It was uncompromising, as English methods often are. 
Except where life was actually in danger, there was no 
drink and no opium for anybody; when absolutely 
necessary the resident doctor gave the patient hypo- 
dermics or something which he called by an unpro- 
nounceable name, lest the sufferer should afterwards try 
to buy it; he smilingly described it as a new vegetable 
poison, and in fact it was nothing but dionine, a prep- 
aration of opium that differs but little from ordinary 
morphia. 

Now Sir Jasper Threlfall was a very great doctor 
indeed, and his name commanded respect in London 
at large and inspired awe in the hospitals. Even the 
profession admitted reluctantly that he did not kill 
more patients than he cured, which is something for 
one fashionable doctor to say of another; for the regular 
answer to any inquiry about a rival practitioner is a 
smile — ‘a smile more dreadful than his own dreadful 
frown ’ — an indescribable smile, a meaning smile, a 
smile that is a libel in itself. 

It had been an act of humanity to take the young 
man into medical custody, as it were, and it had been 
more or less necessary for the safety of the public, for 


CHAP. XIV 


THE PRIMADONNA 


315 


Logotheti and the doctor had found him in a really 
dangerous state, as was amply proved by his attempt- 
ing to cut his own throat and then to shoot Logotheti 
himself. Sir Jasper said he had nothing especial the 
matter with him except drink, that when his nerves 
had recovered their normal tone his real character would 
appear, so that it would then be possible to judge more 
or less whether he had will enough to control himself 
in future. Logotheti agreed, but it occurred to him 
that one need not be knighted, and write a dozen or 
more mysterious capital letters after one's name, and 
live in Harley Street, in order to reach such a simple 
conclusion; and as Logotheti was a millionaire, and 
liked his doctor for his own sake rather than for his 
skill, he told him this, and they both laughed heartily. 
Almost all doctors, except those in French plays, have 
some sense of humour. 

On the third day Isidore Bamberger came to the door 
of the private hospital and asked to see Mr. Feist. 
Not having heard from him, he had been to the hotel 
and had there obtained the address. The doorkeeper 
was a quiet man who had lost a leg in South Africa, 
after having been otherwise severely wounded five 
times in previous engagements. Mr. Bamberger, he 
said, could not see his friend yet. A part of the cure 
consisted in complete isolation from friends during the 
first stages of the treatment. Sir Jasper Threlfall had 
been to see Mr. Feist that morning. He had been 
twice already. Dr. Bream, the resident physician, gave 
the doorkeeper a bulletin every morning at ten for the 


316 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XIV 


benefit of each patient's friend; the notes were written 
on a card which the man held in his hand. 

At the great man's name, Mr. Bamberger became 
thoughtful. A smart brougham drove up just then 
and a tall woman, who wore a thick veil, got out and 
entered the vestibule where Bamberger was standing 
by the open door. The doorkeeper evidently knew her, 
for he glanced at his notes and spoke without being 
questioned. 

'The young gentleman is doing well this week, my 
lady,' he said. 'Sleeps from three to four hours at a 
time. Is less excited. Appetite improving.' 

'Can I see him?' asked a sad and gentle voice through 
the veil. 

'Not yet, my lady.' 

She sighed as she turned to go out, and Mr. Bam- 
berger thought it was one of the saddest sighs he had 
ever heard. He was rather a soft-hearted man. 

'Is it her son?’ he asked, in a respectful sort of way. 

'Yes, sir.' 

'Drink?' inquired Mr. Bamberger in the same tone. 

'Not allowed to give any information except to family 
or friends, sir,' answered the man. 'Rule of the house, 
sir. Very strict.' 

'Quite right, of course. Excuse me for asking. But 
I must see Mr. Feist, unless he's out of his mind. It's 
very important.' 

'Dr. Bream sees visitors himself from ten to twelve, 
sir, after he's been his rounds to the patients' rooms. 
You'll have to get permission from him.' 


CHAP. XIV 


THE PRIMADONNA 


317 


‘But it’s like a prison!’ exclaimed Mr. Bamberger. 

‘Yes, sir/ answered the old soldier imperturbably. 
‘It’s just like a prison. It’s meant to be.’ 

It was evidently impossible to get anything more 
out of the man, who did not pay the slightest attention 
to the cheerful little noise Mr. Bamberger made by 
jingling sovereigns in his waistcoat pocket; there was 
nothing to do but to go away, and Mr. Bamberger went 
out very much annoyed and perplexed. 

He knew Van Torp well, or believed that he did, and 
it was like the man whose genius had created the Nickel 
Trust to have boldly sequestrated his enemy’s chief 
instrument, and in such a clever way as to make it 
probable that Mr. Feist might be kept in confinement 
as long as his captor chose. Doubtless such a high- 
handed act would ultimately go against the latter when 
on his trial, but in the meantime the chief witness was 
i locked up and could not get out. Sir Jasper Threlfall 
would state that his patient was in such a state of health, 
owing to the abuse of alcohol, that it was not safe to 
set him at liberty, and that in his present condition his 
mind was so unsettled by drink that he could not be 
regarded as a sane witness; and if Sir Jasper Threlfall 
said that, it would not be easy to get Charles Feist out 
of Dr. Bream’s establishment in less than three months. 

Mr. Bamberger was obliged to admit that his partner, 
chief, and enemy had stolen a clever march on him. 
Being of a practical turn of mind, however, and not 
hampered by much faith in mankind, even in the most 
eminent, who write the mysterious capital letters after 


318 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XIV 


their names, he wondered to what extent Van Torp 
owned Sir Jasper, and he went to see him on pretence 
of asking advice about his liver. 

The great man gave him two guineas’ worth of 
thumping, auscultating, and poking in the ribs, and 
told him rather disagreeably that he was as healthy as 
a young crocodile, and had a somewhat similar con- 
stitution. A partner of Mr. Van Torp, the American 
financier? Indeed! Sir Jasper had heard the name 
but had never seen the millionaire, and asked politely 
whether he sometimes came to England. It is not un- 
truthful to ask a question to which one knows the 
answer. Mr. Bamberger himself, for instance, who 
knew that he was perfectly well, was just going to put 
down two guineas for having been told so, in answer to 
a question. 

‘I believe you are treating Mr. Feist/ he said, going 
more directly to the point. 

‘Mr. Feist?’ repeated the great authority vaguely. 

‘Yes. Mr. Charles Feist. He’s at Dr. Bream’s 
private hospital in West Kensington.’ 

‘Ah, yes,’ said Sir Jasper. ‘Dr. Bream is treating 
him. He’s not a patient of mine.’ 

‘I thought I’d ask you what his chances are,’ observed 
Isidore Bamberger, fixing his sharp eyes on the famous 
doctor’s face. ‘He used to be my private secretary.’ 

He might just as well have examined the back of the 
doctor’s head. 

‘He’s not a patient of mine,’ Sir Jasper said. ‘I’m 
only one of the visiting doctors at Dr. Bream’s establish- 


CHAP. XIV 


THE PRIMADONNA 


319 


ment. I don’t go there unless he sends for me, and I 
keep no notes of his cases. You will have to ask him. 
If I am not mistaken his hours are from ten to twelve. 
And now’ — Sir Jasper rose — 'as I can only con- 
gratulate you on your splendid health — no, I really 
cannot prescribe anything — literally nothing ’ 

Isidore Bamberger had left three patients in the 
waiting-room and was obliged to go away, as his ' splen- 
did health’ did not afford him the slightest pretext for 
asking more questions. He deposited his two guineas 
on the mantelpiece neatly wrapped in a bit of note- 
paper, while Sir Jasper examined the handle of the 
door with a stony gaze, and he said 'good morning’ as 
he went out. 

'Good morning,’ answered Sir Jasper, and as Mr. 
Bamberger crossed the threshold the single clanging 
stroke of the doctor’s bell was heard, summoning the 
next patient. 

The American man of business was puzzled, for he 
was a good judge of humanity, and was sure that when 
the Englishman said that he had never seen Van Torp 
he was telling the literal truth. Mr. Bamberger was 
convinced that there had been some agreement between 
them to make it impossible for any one to see Feist. 
He knew the latter well, however, and had great con- 
fidence in his remarkable power of holding his tongue, 
even when under the influence of drink. 

When Tiberius had to choose between two men 
equally well fitted for a post of importance, he had 
them both to supper, and chose the one who was least 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XIV 


affected by wine, not at all for the sake of seeing the 
match, but on the excellent principle that in an age 
when heavy drinking was the rule the man who could 
swallow the largest quantity without becoming talka- 
tive was the one to be best trusted with a secret; and 
the fact that Tiberius himself had the strongest head in 
the Empire made him a good judge. 

Bamberger, on the same principle, believed that 
Charles Feist would hold his tongue, and he also felt 
tolerably sure that the former secretary had no com- 
promising papers in his possession, for his memory had 
always been extraordinary. Feist had formerly been 
able to carry in his mind a number of letters which 
Bamberger ‘talked off’ to him consecutively without 
even using shorthand, and could type them afterwards 
with unfailing accuracy. It was therefore scarcely 
likely that he kept notes of the articles he wrote about 
Van Torp. 

But his employer did not know that Feist’s memory 
was failing from drink, and that he no longer trusted 
his marvellous faculty. Van Torp had sequestrated 
him and shut him up, Bamberger believed; but neither 
Van Torp nor any one else would get anything out of 
him. 

And if any one made him talk, what great harm 
would be done, after all? It was not to be supposed 
that such a man as Isidore Bamberger had trusted only 
to his own keenness in collecting evidence, or to a few 
pencilled notes as a substitute for the principal witness 
himself, when an accident might happen at any moment 


CHAP. XIV 


THE PRIMADONNA 


to a man who led such a life. The case for the prosecu- 
tion had been quietly prepared during several months 
past, and the evidence that was to send Rufus Van Torp 
to execution, or to an asylum for the Criminal Insane for 
life, was in the safe of Isidore Bamberger’s lawyer in 
New York, unless, at that very moment, it was already 
in the hands of the Public Prosecutor. A couple of 
cables would do the rest at any time, and in a few 
hours. In murder cases, the extradition treaty works 
as smoothly as the telegraph itself. The American 
authorities would apply to the English Home Secretary, 
the order would go to Scotland Yard, and Van Torp 
would be arrested immediately and taken home by the 
first steamer, to be tried in New York. 

Six months earlier he might have pleaded insanity 
with a possible chance, but in the present state of feel- 
ing the plea would hardly be admitted. A man who 
has been held up to public execration in the press for 
weeks, and whom no one attempts to defend, is in a 
bad case if a well-grounded accusation of murder is 
brought against him at such a moment; and Isidore 
Bamberger firmly believed in the truth of the charge 
and in the validity of the evidence. 

He consoled himself with these considerations, and 
with the reflection that Feist was actually safer where 
he was, and less liable to accident than if he were at 
large. Mr. Bamberger walked slowly down Harley 
Street to Cavendish Square, with his head low between 
his shoulders, his hat far back on his head, his eyes on 
the pavement, and the shiny toes of his patent leather 


322 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XIV 


boots turned well out. His bowed legs were encased 
in loose black trousers, and had as many angles as the 
forepaws of a Dachshund or a Dandie Dinmont. The 
peculiarities of his ungainly gait and figure were even 
more apparent than usual, and as he walked he swung i 
his long arms, that ended in large black gloves which 
looked as if they were stuffed with sawdust. 

Yet there was something in his face that set him far 
beyond and above ridicule, and the passers-by saw it 
and wondered gravely who and what this man in black 
might be, and what great misfortune and still greater ; 
passion had moulded the tragic mark upon his features; 1 
and none of those who looked at him glanced at his 
heavy, ill-made figure, or noticed his clumsy walk, or 
realised that he was most evidently a typical German 
Jew, who perhaps kept an antiquity shop in Wardour 
Street, and had put on his best coat to call on a rich 
collector in the West End. 

Those who saw him only saw his face and went on, 

- feeling that they had passed near something greater 
and sadder and stronger than anything in their own 
fives could ever be. 

But he went on his way, unconscious of the men and 
women he met, and not thinking where he went, cross- 
ing Oxford Street and then turning down Regent Street 
and following it to Piccadilly and the Haymarket. 
Just before he reached the theatre, he slackened his 
pace and looked about him, as if he were waking up; 
and there, in the cross street, just behind the theatre, 
he saw a telegraph office 


CHAP. XIV 


THE PRIMADONNA 


323 


He entered, pushed his hat still a little farther back, 
and wrote a cable message. It was as short as it could 
be, for it consisted of one word only besides the address, 
and that one word had only two letters : 

'Go.' 

That was all, and there was nothing mysterious about 
the syllable, for almost any one would understand that 
it was used as in starting a footrace, and meant, 'Begin 
operations at once!' It was the word agreed upon 
between Isidore Bamberger and his lawyer. The latter 
had been allowed all the latitude required in such a 
case, for he had instructions to lay the evidence before 
the District Attorney-General without delay, if any- 
thing happened to make immediate action seem advisa- 
ble. In any event, he was to do so on receiving the 
message which had now been sent. 

The evidence consisted, in the first place, of certain 
irrefutable proofs that Miss Bamberger had not died 
from shock, but had been killed by a thin and extremely 
sharp instrument with which she had been stabbed in 
the back. Isidore Bamberger’s own doctor had satis- 
fied himself of this, and had signed his statement under 
oath, and Bamberger had instantly thought of a certain 
thin steel letter-opener which Van Torp always had in 
his pocket. 

Next came the affidavit of Paul Griggs. The witness 
knew the Opera House well. Had been in the stalls 
on the night in question. Had not moved from his 
seat till the performance was over, and had been one 
of the last to get out into the corridor. There 


324 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XIV 


was a small door in the corridor on the south side 
which was generally shut. It opened upon a passage 
communicating with the part of the building that is 
let for business offices. Witness’s attention had been 
attracted by part of a red silk dress which lay on the 
floor outside the door ; the latter being ajar. Suspecting 
an accident, witness opened door, found Miss Bamberger, 
and carried her to manager’s room not far off. On 
reaching home had found stains of blood on his hands. 
Had said nothing of this, because he had seen notice 
of the lady’s death from shock in next morning’s paper. 
Was nevertheless convinced that blood must have been 
on her dress. 

The murder was therefore proved. But the victim 
had not been robbed of her jewellery, which demon- 
strated that, if the crime had not been committed by a 
lunatic, the motive for it must have been personal. 

With regard to identity of the murderer, Charles 
Feist deposed that on the night in question he had 
entered the Opera late, having only an admission to 
the standing room, that he was close to one of the doors 
when the explosion took place and had been one of the 
first to leave the house. The emergency lights in the 
corridors were on a separate circuit, but had been also 
momentarily extinguished. They were up again before 
those in the house. The crowd had at once become 
jammed in the doorways, so that people got out much 
more slowly than might have been expected. Many 
actually fell in the exits and were trampled on. Then 
Madame Cordova had begun to sing in the dark, and 


CHAP. XIV 


THE PRIMADONNA 


325 


the panic had ceased in a few seconds. The witness 
did not think that more than three hundred people 
altogether had got out through the several doors. He 
himself had at once made for the main entrance. A 
few persons rushed past him in the dark, descending 
the stairs from the boxes. One or two fell on the steps. 
Just as the emergency lights went up again, witness 
saw a young lady in a red silk dress fall, but did not see 
her face distinctly; he was certain that she had a short 
string of pearls round her throat. They gleamed in 
the light as she fell. She was instantly lifted to her feet 
by Mr. Rufus Van Torp, who must have been following 
her closely. She seemed to have hurt herself a little, 
and he almost carried her down the corridor in the direc- 
tion of the carriage lobby on the Thirty-Eighth Street 
side. The two then disappeared through a door. The 
witness would swear to the door, and he described its 
position accurately. It seemed to have been left ajar, 
but there was no light on the other side of it. The wit- 
ness did not know where the door led to. He had often 
wondered. It was not for the use of the public. He 
frequently went to the Opera and was perfectly familiar 
with the corridors. It was behind this door that Paul 
Griggs had found Miss Bamberger. Questioned as to 
a possible motive for the murder, the witness stated that 
Rufus Van Torp was known to have shown homicidal 
tendencies, though otherwise perfectly sane. In his 
early youth he had lived four years on a cattle-ranch 
as a cow-puncher, and had undoubtedly killed two men 
during that time. Witness had been private secretary 


326 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XIV 


to his partner, Mr. Isidore Bamberger, and while so 
employed Mr. Van Torp had fired a revolver at him in 
his private office in a fit of passion about a message 
witness was sent to deliver. Two clerks in a neighbour- 
ing room had heard the shot. Believing Mr. Van Torp 
to be mad, witness had said nothing at the time, but 
had left Mr. Bamberger soon afterwards. It was always 
said that, several years ago, on board of his steam yacht, 

Mr. Van Torp had once violently pulled a friend who 
was on board out of his berth at two in the morning, and 
had dragged him on deck, saying that he must throw 
him overboard and drown him, as the only way of sav- 
ing his soul. The watch on deck had had great difficulty 
in overpowering Mr. Van Torp, who was very strong. 
With regard to the late Miss Bamberger the witness 
thought that Mr. Van Torp had killed her to get rid of 
her, because she was in possession of facts that would 
ruin him if they were known and because she had 
threatened to reveal them to her father. If she had 
done so, Van Torp would have been completely in his 
partner’s power. Mr. Bamberger could have made a 
beggar of him as the only alternative to penal servitude. s 1 
Questioned as to the nature of this information, witness 
said that it concerned the explosion, which had been 
planned by Van Torp for his own purposes. Either in 
a moment of expansion, under the influence of the drug 
he was in the habit of taking, or else in real anxiety for 
her safety, he had told Miss Bamberger that the explo- 
sion would take place, warning her to remain in her 
home, which was situated on the Riverside Drive, very 


CHAP. XIV 


THE PRIMADONNA 


327 


far from the scene of the disaster. She had undoubtedly 
been so horrified that she had thereupon insisted upon 
dissolving her engagement to marry him, and had 
threatened to inform her father of the horrible plot. 
She had never really wished to marry Van Torp, but 
had accepted him in deference to her father’s wishes. 
He was known to be devoting himself at that very time 
to a well-known primadonna engaged at the Metropoli- 
tan Opera, and Miss Bamberger probably had some 
suspicion of this. Witness said the motive seemed suffi- 
cient, considering that the accused had already twice 
taken human life. His choice lay between killing her 
and falling into the power of his partner. He had 
injured Mr. Bamberger, as was well known, and Mr. 
Bamberger was a resentful man. 

The latter part of Charles Feist’s deposition was 
certainly more in the nature of an argument than of 
evidence pure and simple, and it might not be admitted 
in court; but Isidore Bamberger had instructed his 
lawyer, and the Public Prosecutor would say it all, and 
more also, and much better; and public opinion was 
roused all over the United States against the Nickel 
Tyrant, as Van Torp was now called. 

In support of the main point there was a short note 
to Miss Bamberger in Van Torp’s handwriting, which 
had afterwards been found on her dressing-table. It 
must have arrived before she had gone out to dinner. 
It contained a final and urgent entreaty that she would 
not go to the Opera, nor leave the house that evening, 
and was signed with Van Torp’s initials only, but no 


328 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XIV 


one whq knew his handwriting would be likely to doubt 
that the note was genuine. 

There were some other scattered pieces of evidence 
which fitted the rest very well. Mr. Van Torp had not 
been seen at his own house, nor in any club, nor down 
town, after he had gone out on Wednesday afternoon, 
until the following Friday, when he had returned to 
make his final arrangements for sailing the next morn- 
ing. Bamberger had employed a first-rate detective, 
but only one, to find out all that could be discovered 
about Van Torp’s movements. The millionaire had 
been at the house on Riverside Drive early in the after- 
noon to see Miss Bamberger, as he had told Margaret 
on board the steamer, but Bamberger had not seen his 
daughter after that till she was brought home dead, 
for he had been detained by an important meeting at 
which he presided, and knowing that she was dining 
out to go to the theatre he had telephoned that he 
would dine at his club. He himself had tried to tele- 
phone to Van Torp later in the evening but had not been 
able to find him, and had not seen him till Friday. 

This was the substance of the evidence which Bam- 
berger’s lawyer and the detective would lay before the 
District Attorney-General on receiving the cable. 


CHAPTER XV 


When Lady Maud stopped at Margaret’s house on her 
way to the theatre she had been dining at Princes’ 
with a small party of people, amongst whom Paul 
Griggs had found himself, and as there was no formality 
to hinder her from choosing her own place she had sat 
down next to him. The table was large and round, the 
sixty or seventy other diners in the room made a certain 
amount of noise, so that it was easy to talk in under- 
tones while the conversation of the others was general. 

The veteran man of letters was an old acquaintance 
of Lady Maud’s; and as she made no secret of her 
friendship with Rufus Van Torp, it was not surprising 
that Griggs should warn her of the latter’s danger. As 
he had expected when he left New York, he had received 
a visit from a 1 high-class’ detective, who came to find 
out what he knew about Miss Bamberger’s death. 
This is a bad world, as wq all know, and it is made so 
by a good many varieties of bad people. As Mr. Van 
Torp had said to Logo the ti, 1 different kinds of cats have 
different kinds of ways,’ and the various classes of 
criminals are pursued by various classes of detectives. 
Many are ex-policemen, and make up the pack that 
hunts the well-dressed lady shop-lifter, the gentle pick- 
pocket, the agile burglar, the Paris Apache, and the 
329 


330 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XV 


common murderer of the Bill Sykes type; they are good 
dogs in their way, if you do not press them, though 
they are rather apt to give tongue. But when they 
are not ex-policemen, they are always ex-something 
else, since there is no college for detectives, and it is not 
probable that any young man ever deliberately began 
life with the intention of becoming one. Edgar Poe 
invented the amateur detective, and modern writers 
have developed him till he is a familiar and always 
striking figure in fiction and on the stage. Whether he 
really exists or not does not matter. I have heard a 
great living painter ask the question: What has art 
to do with truth? But as a matter of fact Paul Griggs, 
who had seen a vast deal, had never met an amateur 
detective; and my own impression is that if one existed 
he would instantly turn himself into a professional 
because it would be so very profitable. 

The one who called on Griggs in his lodgings wrote 
‘barrister-at-law’ after his name, and had the right to 
do so. He had languished in chambers, briefless and 
half starving, either because he had no talent for the 
bar, or because he had failed to marry a solicitor’s 
daughter. He himself was inclined to attribute his 
want of success to the latter cause. But he had not 
wasted his time, though he was more than metaphori- 
cally threadbare, and his waist would have made a sen- 
sation at a staymaker’s. He had watched and pondered 
on many curious cases for years; and one day, when a 
‘high-class’ criminal had baffled the police and had 
well-nigh confounded the Attorney-General and proved 


CHAP. XV 


THE PRIMADONNA 


331 


himself a saint, the starving barrister had gone quietly 
to work in his own way, had discovered the truth, had 
taken his information to the prosecution, had been the 
means of sending the high-class one to penal servitude, 
and had covered himself with glory; since when he had 
grown sleek and well-liking, if not rich, as a professional 
detective. 

Griggs had been perfectly frank, and had told without 
hesitation all he could remember of the circumstances. 
In answer to further questions he said he knew Mr. Van 
Torp tolerably well, and had not seen him in the Opera 
House on the evening of the murder. He did not know 
whether the financier's character was violent. If it 
was, he had never seen any notable manifestation of 
temper. Did he know that Mr. Van Torp had once lived 
on a ranch, and had killed two men in a shooting affray? 
Yes, he had heard so, but the shooting might have been 
in self-defence. Did he know anything about the blow- 
ing up of the works of which Van Torp had been accused 
in the papers? Nothing more than the public knew. 
Or anything about the circumstances of Van Torp's 
engagement to Miss Bamberger? Nothing whatever. 
Would he read the statement and sign his name to it? 
He would, and he did. 

Griggs thought the young man acted more like an 
ordinary lawyer than a detective, and said so with a 
smile. 

'Oh no/ was the quiet answer. 'In my business it's 
quite as important to recognise honesty as it is to de- 
tect fraud. That's all.' 


332 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XV 


For his own part the man of letters did not care a 
straw whether Van Torp had committed the murder 
or not, but he thought it very unlikely. On general 
principles, he thought the law usually found out the 
truth in the end, and he was ready to do what he could to 
help it. He held his tongue, and told no one. about the 
detective’s visit, because he had no intimate friend in 
England; partly, too, because he wished to keep his 
name out of what was now called ‘ the Van Torp scandal.’ 

He would never have alluded to the matter if he had 
not accidentally found himself next to Lady Maud at 
dinner. She had always liked him and trusted him, 
and he liked her and her father. On that evening she 
spoke of Van Torp within the first ten minutes, and 
expressed her honest indignation at the general attack 
made on ‘the kindest man that ever lived.’ Then 
Griggs felt that she had a sort of right to know what 
was being done to bring against her friend an accusa- 
tion of murder, for he believed Van Torp innocent, and 
was sure that Lady Maud would warn him; but it was 
for her sake only that Griggs spoke, because he pitied 
her. 

She took it more calmly than he had expected, but 
she grew a little paler, and that look came into her 
eyes which Margaret and Logotheti saw there an hour 
afterwards; and presently she asked Griggs if he too 
would join the week-end party at Cray the w, telling him 
that Van Torp would be there. Griggs accepted, after 
a moment’s hesitation. 

She was not quite sure why she had so frankly ap- 


CHAP. XV 


THE PRIMADONNA 


333 


pealed to Logotheti for help when they left Margaret’s 
house together, but she was not disappointed in his 
answer. He was 1 exotic/ as she had said of him; he 
was hopelessly in love with Cordova, who disliked Van 
Torp, and he could not be expected to take much trouble 
for any other woman; she had not the very slightest 
claim on him. Yet she had asked him to help her in a 
way which might be anything but lawful, even supposing 
that it did not involve positive cruelty. 

For she had not been married to Leven four years 
without learning something of Asiatic practices, and 
she knew that there were more means of making a man 
tell a secret than by persuasion or wily cross-examina- 
tion. It was all very well to keep within the bounds of 
the law and civilisation, but where the whole existence 
of her best friend was at stake, Lady Maud was much 
too simple, primitive, and feminine to be hampered by 
any such artificial considerations, and she turned 
naturally to a man who did not seem to be a slave to 
them either. She had not quite dared to hope that he 
would help her, and his readiness to do so was something 
of a surprise; but she would have been astonished if he 
had been in the least shocked at the implied suggestion 
of deliberately torturing Charles Feist till he revealed 
the truth about the murder. She only felt a little un- 
comfortable when she reflected that Feist might not 
know it after all, whereas she had boldly told Logotheti 
that he did. 

If the Greek had hesitated for a few seconds before 
giving his answer, it was not that he was doubtful 


334 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XV 


of his own willingness to do what she wished, but be- 
cause he questioned his power to do it. The request 
itself appealed to the Oriental's love of excitement and 
to his taste for the uncommon in life. If he had not 
sometimes found occasions for satisfying both, he could 
not have lived in Paris and London at all, but would 
have gone back to Constantinople, which is the last 
refuge of romance in Europe, the last hiding-place of 
mediaeval adventure, the last city of which a new De- 
cameron of tales could still be told, and might still be 
true. 

Lady Maud had good nerves, and she watched the 
play with her friends and talked between the acts, very 
much as if nothing had happened, except that she was 
pale and there was that look in her eyes; but only Paul 
Griggs noticed it, because he had a way of watching 
the small changes of expression that may mean tragedy, 
but more often signify indigestion, or too much strong 
tea, or a dun's letter, or a tight shoe, or a bad hand at 
bridge, or the presence of a bore in the room, or the flat 
failure of expected pleasure, or sauce spilt on a new 
gown by a rival's butler, or being left out of something 
small and smart, or any of those minor aches that are 
the inheritance of the social flesh, and drive women 
perfectly mad while they last. 

But Griggs knew that none of these troubles afflicted 
Lady Maud, and when he spoke to her now and then, 
between the acts, she felt his sympathy for her in every 
word and inflection. 

She was glad when the evening was over and she was 


CHAP. XV 


THE PRIMADONNA 


335 


at home in her dressing-room, and there was no more 
effort to be made till the next day. But even alone, 
she did not behave or look very differently; she twisted 
up her thick brown hair herself, as methodically as ever, 
and laid out the black velvet gown on the lounge after 
shaking it out, so that it should be creased as little as 
possible; but when she was ready to go to bed she put 
on a dressing-gown and sat down at her table to write 
to Rufus Van Torp. 

The letter was begun and she had written half a 
dozen lines when she laid down the pen, to unlock a 
small drawer from which she took an old blue envelope 
that had never been sealed, though it was a good deal 
the worse for wear. There was a photograph in it, 
which she laid before her on the letter; and she looked 
down at it steadily, resting her elbows on the table and 
her forehead and temples in her hands. 

It was a snapshot photograph of a young officer in 
khaki and puttees, not very well taken, and badly 
mounted on a bit of white pasteboard that might have 
been cut from a bandbox with a penknife; but it was 
all she had, and there could never be another. 

She looked at it a long time. 

'You understand, dear/ she said at last, very low; 
'you understand/ 

She put it away again and locked the drawer before 
she went on with her letter to Van Torp. It was easy 
enough to tell him what she had learned about Feist 
from Logotheti; it was even possible that he had found 
it out for himself, and had not taken the trouble to 


336 


THE PRIMADONNA 


chap, xv 


inform her of the fact. Apart from the approval that 
friendship inspires, she had always admired the cool 
discernment of events which he showed when great 
things were at stake. But it was one thing, she now 
told him, to be indifferent to the stupid attacks of the 
press, it would be quite another to allow himself to be 
accused of murder; the time had come when he must 
act, and without delay; there was a limit beyond 
which indifference became culpable apathy; it was 
clear enough now, she said, that all these attacks on 
him had been made to ruin him in the estimation of 
the public on both sides of the Atlantic before striking 
the first blow, as he himself had guessed; Griggs was 
surely not an alarmist, and Griggs said confidently that 
Van Torp’s enemies meant business; without doubt, a 
mass of evidence had been carefully got together dur- 
ing the past three months, and it was pretty sure that 
an attempt would be made before long to arrest him; 
would he do nothing to make such an outrage impos- 
sible? She had not forgotten, she could never forget, 
what she owed him, but on his side he owed something 
to her, and to the great friendship that bound them 
to each other. Who was this man Feist, and who was 
behind him? She did not know why she was so sure 
that he knew the truth, supposing that there had really 
been a murder, but her instinct told her so. 

Lady Maud was not gifted with much power of writ- 
ing, for she was not clever at books, or with pen and 
ink, but she wrote her letter with deep conviction and 
striking clearness. The only point of any importance 


CHAP. XV 


THE PRIMADONNA 


337 


which she did not mention was that Logotheti had prom- 
ised to help her, and she did not write of that because 
she was not really sure that he could do anything, 
though she was convinced that he would try. She was 
very anxious. She was horrified when she thought of 
what might happen if nothing were done. She entreated 
Van Torp to answer that he would take steps to defend 
himself; and that, if possible, he would come to town 
so that they might consult together. 

She finished her letter and went to bed; but her good 
nerves failed her for once, and it was a long time before 
she could get to sleep. It was absurd, of course, but 
she remembered every case she had ever heard of in 
which innocent men had been convicted of crimes they 
had not committed and had suffered for them; and in a 
hideous instant, between waking and dozing, she saw 
Rufus Van Torp hanged before her eyes. 

The impression was so awful that she started from her 
pillow with a cry and turned up the electric lamp. It 
was not till the light flooded the room that the image 
quite faded away and she could let her head rest on the 
pillow again, and even then her heart was beating 
violently, as it had only beaten once in her life before 
that night. 


CHAPTER XVI 


Sir Jasper Threlfall did not know how long it would 
be before Mr. Feist could safely be discharged from the 
establishment in which Logotheti had so kindly placed 
him. Dr. Bream said ‘it was as bad a case of chronic 
alcoholism as he often saw.’ What has grammar to do 
with the treatment of the nerves? Mr. Feist said he did 
not want to be cured of chronic alcoholism, and de- 
manded that he should be let out at once. Dr. Bream 
answered that it was against his principles to discharge 
a patient half cured. Mr. Feist retorted that it was a 
violation of personal liberty to cure a man against his 
will. The physician smiled kindly at a view he heard 
expressed every day, and which the law shared, though 
it might not be very ready to support it. Physically, 
Mr. Feist was afraid of Dr. Bream, who had played foot- 
ball for Guy’s Hospital and had the complexion of a 
healthy baby and a quiet eye. So the patient changed 
his tone, and whined for something to calm his agitated 
nerves. One teaspoonful of whisky was all he begged 
for, and he promised not to ask for it to-morrow if he 
might have it to-day. The doctor was obdurate about 
spirits, but felt his pulse, examined the pupils of his 
eyes, and promised him a calming hypodermic in an 
hour. It was too soon after breakfast, he said. Mr. 

338 


CHAP. XYI 


THE PRIMADONNA 


339 


Feist only once attempted to use violence, and then 
two large men came into the room, as quiet and healthy 
as the doctor himself, and gently but firmly put him to 
bed, tucking him up in such an extraordinary way that 
he found it quite impossible to move or to get his hands 
out; and Dr. Bream, smiling with exasperating calm, 
stuck a needle into his shoulder, after which he presently 
fell asleep. 

He had been drinking hard for years, so that it was a 
very bad case; and besides, he seemed to have some- 
thing on his mind, which made it worse. 

Logotheti came to see him now, and took a vast deal 
of trouble to be agreeable. At his first visit Feist flew 
into a rage and accused the Greek of having kidnapped 
him and shut him up in a prison, where he was treated 
like a lunatic; but to this Logotheti was quite indifferent; 
he only shook his head rather sadly, and offered Feist a 
very excellent cigarette, such as it was quite impossible 
to buy, even in London. After a little hesitation the 
patient took it, and the effect was very soothing to his 
temper. Indeed it was wonderful, for in less than two 
minutes his features relaxed, his eyes , became quiet, 
and he actually apologised for having spoken so rudely. 
Logotheti had been kindness itself, he said, had saved 
his life at the very moment when he was going to cut 
his throat, and had been in all respects the good Samari- 
tan. The cigarette was perfectly delicious. It was 
about the best smoke he had enjoyed since he had left 
the States, he said. He wished Logotheti to please to 
understand that he wanted to settle up for all expenses 


340 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XVI 


as soon as possible, and to pay his weekly bills at Dr. 
Bream’s. There had been twenty or thirty pounds in 
notes in his pocket-book, and a letter of credit, but all 
his things had been taken away from him. He con- 
cluded it was all right, but it seemed rather strenuous 
to take his papers too. Perhaps Mr. Logo the ti, who 
was so kind, would make sure that they were in a safe 
place, and tell the doctor to let him see any other friends 
who called. Then he asked for another of those wonder- 
ful cigarettes, but Logotheti was awfully sorry — there 
had only been two, and he had just smoked the other 
himself. He showed his empty case. 

‘By the way/ he said, ‘if the doctor should happen 
to come in and notice the smell of the smoke, don’t tell 
him that you had one of mine. My tobacco is rather 
strong, and he might think it would do you harm, you 
know. I see that you have some light ones there, on 
the table. Just let him think that you smoked one of 
them. I promise to bring some more to-morrow, and 
we’ll have a couple together.’ 

That was what Logotheti said, and it comforted Mr. 
Feist, who recognised the opium at once; all that after- 
noon and through all the next morning he told himself 
that he was to have another of those cigarettes, and 
perhaps two, at three o’clock in the afternoon, when 
Logotheti had said that he would come again. 

Before leaving his own rooms on the following day, 
the Greek put four cigarettes into his case, for he had 
not forgotten his promise; he took two from a box that 
lay on the table, and placed them so that they would be 


CHAP. XVI 


THE PRIMADONNA 


341 


nearest to his own hand when he offered his case, but 
he took the other two from a drawer which was always 
locked, and of which the key was at one end of his 
superornate watch-chain, and he placed them on the 
other side of the case, conveniently for a friend to take. 
All four cigarettes looked exactly alike. 

If any one had pointed out to him that an English- 
man would not think it fair play to drug a man deliber- 
ately, Logotheti would have smiled and would have 
replied by asking whether it was fair play to accuse an 
innocent man of murder, a retort which would only be- 
l come unanswerable if it could be proved that Van Torp 
was suspected unjustly. But to this objection, again, 
the Greek would have replied that he had been brought 
up in Constantinople, where they did things in that 
way; and that, except for the trifling obstacle of the law, 
there was no particular reason for not strangling Mr. 
Feist with the English equivalent for a bowstring, since 
he had printed a disagreeable story about Miss Donne, 
and was, besides, a very offensive sort of person in 
appearance and manner. There had always been a cer- 
tain directness about Logotheti’s view of man’s rights. 

He went to see Mr. Feist every day at three o’clock, 
in the most kind way possible, made himself as agreeable 
as he could, and gave him cigarettes with a good deal 
of opium in them. He also presented Feist with a pretty 
little asbestos lamp which was constructed to purify 
the air, and had a really wonderful capacity for absorb- 
ing the rather peculiar odour of the cigarettes. Dr. 
Bream always made his round in the morning, and the 


342 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XVI 


men nurses he employed to take care of his patients 
either did not notice anything unusual, or supposed 
that Logotheti smoked some 'outlandish Turkish stuff,’ 
and, because he was a privileged person, they said 
nothing about it. As he had brought the patient to 
the establishment to be cured, it was really not to be 
supposed that he would supply him with forbidden 
narcotics. 

Now, to a man who is poisoned with drink and is 
suddenly deprived of it, opium is from the beginning 
as delightful as it is nauseous to most healthy people 
when they first taste it; and during the next four or 
five days, while Feist appeared to be improving faster 
than might have been expected, he was in reality 
acquiring such a craving for his daily dose of smoke 
that it would soon be acute suffering to be deprived of 
it; and this was what Logotheti wished. He would have 
supplied him with brandy if he had not been sure that 
the contraband would be discovered and stopped by 
the doctor; but opium, in the hands of one who knows 
exactly how it is used, is very much harder to detect, 
unless the doctor sees the smoker when he is under the 
influence of the drug, while the pupils of the eye are 
unnaturally contracted and the face is relaxed in that 
expression of beatitude which only the great narcotics 
can produce — the state which Baudelaire called the 
Artificial Paradise. 

During these daily visits Logotheti became very 
confidential ; that is to say, he exercised all his ingenuity 
in the attempt to make Feist talk about himself. But 


CHAP. XVI 


THE PRIMADONNA 


343 


he was not very successful. Broken as the man was, 
his characteristic reticence was scarcely at all relaxed, 
and it was quite impossible to get beyond the barrier. 
One day Logotheti gave him a cigarette more than 
usual, as an experiment, but he went to sleep almost 
immediately, sitting up in his chair. The opium, as a 
moderate substitute for liquor, temporarily restored the 
habitual tone of his system and revived his natural 
self-control, and Logotheti soon gave up the idea of 
extracting any secret from him in a moment of garrulous 
expansion. 

There was the other way, which was now prepared, 
and the Greek had learned enough about his victim to 
justify him in using it. The cypher expert, who had 
been at work on Feist’s diary, had now completed his 
key and brought Logotheti the translation. He was a 
rather shabby little man, a penman employed to do 
occasional odd jobs about the Foreign Office, such as 
engrossing documents and the like, by which he earned 
from eighteenpence to half-a-crown an hour, according 
to the style of penmanship required, and he was well 
known in the criminal courts as an expert on hand- 
writing in forgery cases. 

He brought his work to Logotheti, who at once asked 
for the long entry concerning the night of the explosion. 
The expert turned to it and read it aloud. It was a 
statement of the circumstances to which Feist was pre- 
pared to swear, and which have been summed up in a 
previous chapter. Van Torp was not mentioned by 
name in the diary, but was referred to as Tie’; the 


344 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XVI 


other entries in the journal, however, fully proved that 
Van Torp was meant, even if Logotheti had felt any 
doubt of it. 

The expert informed him, however, that the entry 
was not the original one, which had apparently been 
much shorter, and had been obliterated in the ordinary 
way with a solution of chloride of lime. Here and 
there very pale traces of the previous writing were faintly 
visible, but there was not enough to give the sense of 
what was gone. This proved that the ink had not been 
long dry when it had been removed, as the expert ex- 
plained. It was very hard to destroy old writing so 
completely that neither heat nor chemicals would bring 
it out again. Therefore Feist must have decided to 
change the entry soon after he had made it, and prob- 
ably on the next day. The expert had not found any 
other page which had been similarly treated. The 
shabby little man looked at Logotheti, and Logotheti 
looked at him, and both nodded; and the Greek paid 
him generously for his work. 

It was clear that Feist had meant to aid his own 
memory, and had rather clumsily tampered with his 
diary in order to make it agree with the evidence he 
intended to give, rather than meaning to produce the 
notes in court. What Logotheti meant to find out was 
what the man himself really knew and what he had first 
written down; that, and some other things. In con- 
versation, Logotheti had asked him to describe the 
panic at the theatre, and Cordova’s singing in the dark, 
but Feist’s answers had been anything but interesting. 


CHAP. XVI 


THE PRIMADONNA 


345 


1 You can’t remember much about that kind of thing/ 
he had said in his drawling way, ‘ because there isn’t 
much to remember. There was a crash and the lights 
went out, and people fought their way to the doors in 
the dark till there was a general squash; then Madame 
Cordova began to sing, and that kind of calmed things 
down till the lights went up again. That’s about all 
I remember.’ 

His recollections did not at all agree with what he 
had entered in his diary; but though Logo the ti tried a 
second time two days later, Feist repeated the same 
story with absolute verbal accuracy. The Greek asked 
him if he had known ‘that poor Miss Bamberger who 
died of shock.’ Feist blew out a cloud of drugged 
tobacco smoke before he answered, with one of his dis- 
agreeable smiles, that he had known her pretty well, 
for he had been her father’s private secretary. He ex- 
plained that he had given up the place because he had 
come into some money. Mr. Bamberger was ‘a very 
pleasant gentleman,’ Feist declared, and poor Miss 
Bamberger had been a ‘superb dresser and a first-class 
conversationalist, and was a severe loss to her friends 
and admirers.’ Though Logotheti, who was only a 
Greek, did not understand every word of this panegyric, 
he perceived that it was intended for the highest praise. 
He said he should like to know Mr. Bamberger, and 
was sorry that he had not known Miss Bamberger, who 
had been engaged to marry Mr. Van Torp, as every one 
had heard. 

He thought he saw a difference in Feist’s expression, 


346 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XVI 


but was not sure of it. The pale, unhealthy, and yet 
absurdly youthful face was not naturally mobile, and 
the almost colourless eyes always had rather a fixed 
and staring look. Logo the ti was aware of a new mean- 
ing in them rather than of a distinct change. He ac- 
cordingly went on to say that he had heard poor Miss 
Bamberger spoken of as heartless, and he brought out the 
word so unexpectedly that Feist looked sharply at him. 

‘Well/ he said, ‘some people certainly thought so. 
I daresay she was. It don't matter much, now she's 
dead, anyway.' 

‘She paid for it, poor girl/ answered Logotheti very 
deliberately. ‘They say she was murdered.' 

The change in Feist's face was now unmistakable. 
There was a drawing down of the corners of the mouth, 
and a lowering of the lids that meant something, and 
the unhealthy complexion took a greyish shade. Logo- 
theti was too wise to watch his intended victim, and 
leaned back in a careless attitude, gazing out of the 
window at the bright creeper on the opposite wall. 

‘I've heard it suggested,' said Mr. Feist rather thickly, 
out of a perfect storm of drugged smoke. 

It came out of his ugly nostrils, it blew out of his 
mouth, it seemed to issue even from his ears and eyes. 

‘I suppose we shall never know the truth,' said Logo- 
theti in an idle tone, and not seeming to look at his 
companion. ‘Mr. Griggs — do you remember Mr. 
Griggs, the author, at the Turkish Embassy, where we 
first met? Tall old fellow, sad-looking, bony, hard; 
you remember him, don't you?' 


CHAP. XVI 


THE PRIMADONNA 


347 


‘Why, yes/ drawled Feist, emitting more smoke, ‘I 
know him quite well. , 

‘He found blood on his hands after he had carried 
her. Had you not heard that? I wondered whether 
you saw her that evening. Did you?' 

‘I saw her from a distance in the box with her friends/ 
answered Feist steadily. 

‘Did you see her afterwards?' 

The direct question came suddenly, and the strained 
look in Feist's face became more intense. Logotheti 
fancied he understood very well what was passing in 
the young man's mind; he intended to swear in court 
that he had seen Van Torp drag the girl to the place 
where her body was afterwards found, and if he now 
denied this, the Greek, who was probably Van Torp’s 
friend, might appear as a witness and narrate the present 
conversation; and though this would not necessarily 
invalidate the evidence, it might weaken it in the opinion 
of the jury. Feist had of course suspected that Logo- 
theti had some object in forcing him to undergo a cure, 
and this suspicion had been confirmed by the opium 
cigarettes, which he would have refused after the first 
time if he had possessed the strength of mind to do so. 

While Logotheti watched him, three small drops of 
perspiration appeared high up on his forehead, just where 
the parting of his thin light hair began; for he felt that 
he must make up his mind what to say, and several 
seconds had already elapsed since the question. 

‘As a matter of fact/ he said at last, with an evident 
effort, ‘I did catch sight of Miss Bamberger later.' 


348 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XVI 


He had been aware of the moisture on his forehead, 
and had hoped that Logotheti would not notice it, but 
the drops now gathered and rolled down, so that he 
was obliged to take out his handkerchief. 

'It’s getting quite hot/ he said, by way of explanation. 

'Yes/ answered Logotheti, humouring him, 'the room 
is warm. You must have been one of the last people 
who saw Miss Bamberger alive/ he added. 'Was she 
trying to get out?’ 

'I suppose so.’ 

Logotheti pretended to laugh a little. 

'You must have been quite sure when you saw her/ 
he said. 

Feist was in a very overwrought condition by this 
time, and Logotheti reflected that if his nerve did not 
improve he would make a bad impression on a jury. 

'Now 111 tell you the truth/ he said rather des- 
perately. 

'By all means!' And Logotheti prepared to hear 
and remember accurately the falsehood which would 
probably follow immediately on such a statement. 

But he was disappointed. 

'The truth is/ said Feist, 'I don't care much to talk 
about this affair at present. I can't explain now, but 
you'll understand one of these days, and you'll say I 
was right.' 

'Oh, I see!' 

Logotheti smiled and held out his case, for Feist had 
finished the first cigarette. He refused another, how- 
ever, to the other's surprise. 


CHAP. XVI 


THE PRIMADONNA 


349 


' Thanks/ he said, ‘but I guess I won’t smoke any 
more of those. I believe they get on to my nerves.’ 

* Do you really not wish me to bring you any more of 
them?’ asked Logotheti, affecting a sort of surprised 
concern. ‘Do you think they hurt you?’ 

‘I do. That’s exactly what I mean. I’m much 
obliged, all the same, but I’m going to give them up, 
just like that.’ 

‘Very well,’ Logotheti answered. ‘I promise not to 
bring any more. I think you are very wise to make 
the resolution, if you really think they hurt you — 
though I don’t see why they should.’ 

Like most weak people who make good resolutions, 
Mr. Feist did not realise what he was doing. He under- 
stood horribly well, forty-eight hours later, when he was 
dragging himself at his tormentor’s feet, entreating the 
charity of half a cigarette, of one teaspoonful of liquor, 
of anything, though it were deadly poison, that could 
rest his agonised nerves for a single hour, for ten minutes, 
for an instant, offering his life and soul for it, parching 
for it, burning, sweating, trembling, vibrating with 
horror, and sick with fear for the want of it. 

For Logotheti was an Oriental and had lived in Con- 
stantinople; and he knew what opium does, and what 
a man will do to get it, and that neither passion of love, 
nor bond of affection, nor fear of man or God, nor of 
death and damnation, will stand against that awful 
craving when the poison is within reach. 


CHAPTER XVII 


The society papers printed a paragraph which said that 
Lord Creedmore and Countess Leven were going to have 
a week-end party at Craythew, and the list of guests 
included the names of Mr. Van Torp and Senorita da 
Cordova, ‘ Monsieur Konstantinos Logotheti ’ and Mr. 
Paul Griggs, after those of a number of overpoweringly 
smart people. 

Lady Maud’s brothers saw the paragraph, and the one 
who was in the Grenadier Guards asked the one who was 
in the Blues if ‘ the Governor was going in for zoology or 
lion-taming in his old age ’ ; but the brother in the Blues 
said it was ‘Maud who liked freaks of nature, and Greeks, 
and things, because they were so amusing to photograph.’ 

At all events, Lady Maud had studiously left out her 
brothers and sisters in making up the Craythew party, 
a larger one than had been assembled there for many 
years; it was so large indeed that the ‘freaks’ would not 
have been prominent figures at all, even if they had been 
such unusual persons as the young man in the Blues 
imagined them. 

For though Lord Creedmore was not a rich peer, Cray- 
thew was a fine old place, and could put up at least thirty 
guests without crowding them and without causing that 
most uncomfortable condition of things in which people 
350 


; CHAP. XVII 


THE PRIMADONNA 


351 


run over each other from morning to night during week- 
end parties in the season, when there is no hunting or 
shooting to keep the men out all day. The house itself 
was two or three times as big as Mr. Van Torp’s at Oxley 
Paddox. It had its hall, its long drawing-room for dan- 
cing, its library, its breakfast-room and its morning- 
room, its billiard-room, sitting-room, and smoking-room, 
like many another big English country house; but it 
had also a picture gallery, the library was an historical 
collection that filled three good-sized rooms, and it was 
completed by one which had always been called the study, 
beyond which there were two little dwelling-rooms, at 
the end of the wing, where the librarian had lived when 
there had been one. For the old lord had been a bache- 
lor and a book lover, but the present master of the house, 
who was tremendously energetic and practical, took 
care of the books himself. Now and then, when the 
house was almost full, a guest was lodged in the former 
librarian’s small apartment, and on the present occasion 
Paul Griggs was to be put there, on the ground that he 
was a man of letters and must be glad to be near books, 
and also because he could not be supposed to be afraid 
of Lady Letitia Foxwell’s ghost, which was believed to 
have spent the nights in the library for the last hundred 
and fifty years, more or less, ever since the unhappy 
young girl had hanged herself there in the time of George 
the Second, on the eve of her wedding day. 

The ancient house stood more than a mile from the 
high road, near the further end of such a park as is rarely 
to be seen, even in beautiful Derbyshire, for the Fox- 


352 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XVII 


wells had always loved their trees, as good Englishmen 
should, and had taken care of them. There were ancient 
oaks there, descended by less than four tree-generations 
from Druid times; all down the long drive the great 
elms threw their boughs skywards; there the solemn 
beeches grew, the gentler ash, and the lime; there the 
yews spread out their branches, and here and there the 
cedar of Lebanon, patriarch of all trees that bear cones, 
reared his royal crown above the rest; in and out, too, 
amongst the great boulders that strewed the park, the 
sharp-leaved holly stood out boldly, and the exquisite 
white thorn, all in flower, shot up to three and four 
times a man’s height; below, the heather grew close and 
green to blossom in the summer-time; and in the deeper, 
lonelier places the blackthorn and hoe ran wild, and the 
dog-rose in wild confusion; the alder and the gorse too, 
the honeysuckle and ivy, climbed up over rocks and 
stems; you might see a laurel now and then, and bilberry 
bushes by thousands, and bracken everywhere in an 
endless profusion of rich, dark-green lace. 

Squirrels there were, dashing across the open glades 
and running up the smooth beeches and chestnut trees, 
as quick as light, and rabbits, dodging in and out amongst 
the ferns, and just showing the snow-white patch under 
their little tails as they disappeared, and now and again 
the lordly deer stepping daintily and leisurely through 
the deep fern; all these lived in the wonderful depths of 
Craythew Park, and of birds there was no end. There 
were game birds and song birds, from the handsome 
pheasants to the modest little partridges, the royalists 


CHAP. XVII 


THE PRIMADONNA 


353 


and the puritans of the woods, from the love-lorn wood- 
pigeon, cooing in the tall firs, to the thrush and the 
blackbird, making long hops as they quartered the 
ground for grubs; and the robin, the linnet, and little 
Jenny Wren all lived there in riotous plenty of worms 
and snails; and nearer to the great house the starlings 
and jackdaws shot down in a great hurry from the holes 
in old trees where they had their nests, and many of 
them came rushing from their headquarters in the 
ruined tower by the stream to waddle about the open 
lawns in their ungainly fashion, vain because they were 
not like swallows, but could really walk when they chose, 
though they did it rather badly. And where the woods 
ended they were lined with rhododendrons, and lilacs, 
and laburnum. There are even bigger parks in England 
than Craythew, but there is none more beautiful, none 
richer in all sweet and good things that live, none more 
musical with song of birds, not one that more deeply 
breathes the world’s oldest poetry. 

Lady Maud went out on foot that afternoon and met 
Van Torp in the drive, half a mile from the house. He 
came in his motor car with Miss More and Ida, who was 
to go back after tea. It was by no means the first time 
that they had been at Craythew; the little girl loved 
nature, and understood by intuition much that would 
have escaped a normal child. It was her greatest de- 
light to come over in the motor and spend two or three 
hours in the park, and when none of the family were in 
the country she was always free to come and go, with 
Miss More, as she pleased. 


354 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XVII 


Lady Maud kissed her kindly and shook hands with 
her teacher before the car went on to leave Mr. Van 
Torp’s things at the house. Then the two walked slowly 
along the road, and neither spoke for some time, nor 
looked at the other, but both kept their eyes on the 
ground before them, as if expecting something. 

Mr. Van Torp’s hands were in his pockets, his soft 
straw hat was pushed rather far back on his sandy head, 
and as he walked he breathed an American tune between 
his teeth, raising one side of his upper lip to let the faint 
sound pass freely without turning itself into a real 
whistle. It is rather a Yankee trick, and is particularly 
offensive to some people, but Lady Maud did not mind it 
at all, though she heard it distinctly. It always meant 
that Mr. Van Torp was in deep thought, and she guessed 
that, just then, he was thinking more about her than of 
himself. In his pocket he held in his right hand a small 
envelope which he meant to bring out presently and give 
to her, where nobody would be likely to see them. 

Presently, when the motor had turned to the left, far 
up the long drive, he raised his eyes and looked about 
him. He had the sight of a man who has lived in the 
wilderness, and not only sees, but knows how to see, 
which is a very different thing. Having satisfied him- 
self, he withdrew the envelope and held it out to his 
companion. 

‘I thought you might just as well have some more 
money/ he said, 'so I brought you some. I may want 
to sail any minute. I don’t know. Yes, you’d better 
take it.’ 


CHAP. XYH 


THE PRIMADONNA 


355 


Lady Maud had looked up quickly and had hesitated 
to receive the envelope, but when he finished speaking 
she took it quickly and slipped it into the opening of 
her long glove, pushing it down till it lay in the palm 
of her hand. She fastened the buttons before she spoke. 

'How thoughtful you always are for me!’ 

She unconsciously used the very words with which 
she had thanked him in Hare Court the last time he had 
given her money. The tone told him how deeply grate- 
ful she was. , 

'Well/ he said in answer, 'as far as that goes, it’s for 
you yourself, as much as if I didn’t know where it went; 
and if I’m obliged to sail suddenly I don’t want you to 
be out of your reckoning.’ 

'You’re much too good, Rufus. Do you really mean 
that you may have to go back at once, to defend your- 
self?’ 

'No, not exactly that. But business is business, and 
somebody responsible has got to be there, since poor old 
Bamberger has gone crazy and come abroad to stay — 
apparently.’ 

'Crazy?’ 

'Well, he behaves like it, anyway. I’m beginning to 
be sorry for that man. I’m in earnest. You mayn’t 
believe it, but I really am. Kind of unnatural, isn’t it, 
for me to be sorry for people?’ 

He looked steadily at Lady Maud for a moment, then 
smiled faintly, looked away, and began to blow his little 
tune through his teeth again. 

'You were sorry for little Ida,’ suggested Lady Maud. 


356 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XVII 


‘That’s different. I — I liked her mother a good 
deal, and when the child was turned adrift I sort of 
looked after her. Anybody’ d do that, I expect.’ 

‘And you’re sorry for me, in a way,’ said Lady Maud. 

‘You’re different, too. You’re my friend. I suppose 
you’re about the only one I’ve got, too. We can’t com- 
plain of being crowded out of doors by our friends, 
either of us, can we? Besides, I shouldn’t put it in that 
way, or call it being sorry, exactly. It’s another kind 
of feeling I have. I’d like to undo your life and make 
it over again for you, the right way, so that you’d be 
happy. I can do a great deal, but all the cursed nickel 
in the world won’t bring back the ’ he checked him- 

self suddenly, shutting his hard lips with an audible 
clack, and looking down. ‘I beg your pardon, my 
dear,’ he said in a low voice, a moment later. 

For he had been very near to speaking of the dead, 
and he felt instinctively that the rough speech, however 
kindly meant, would have pained her, and perhaps had 
already hurt her a little. But as she looked down, too, 
her hand gently touched the sleeve of his coat to tell 
him that there was nothing to forgive. 

‘He knows,’ she said, more softly than sadly. ‘Where 
he is, they know' about us — when we try to do right.’ 

‘And you haven’t only tried,’ Van Torp answered 
quietly, ‘you’ve done it.’ 

‘Have I?’ It sounded as if she asked the question 
of herself, or of some one to whom she appealed in her 
heart. ‘I often wonder,’ she added thoughtfully. 

‘You needn’t worry,’ said her companion, more 


CHAP. XVII 


THE PRIMADONNA 


357 


cheerily than he had yet spoken. ‘Do you want to 
know why I think you needn’t fuss about your con- 
science and your soul, and things?’ 

He smiled now, and so did she, but more at the words 
he used than at the question itself. 

‘Yes,’ she. said. ‘I should like to know why.’ 

‘It’s a pretty good sign for a lady’s soul when a lot of 
poor creatures bless her every minute of their lives for 
fishing them out of the mud and landing them in a 
decent fife. Come, isn’t it now? You know it is. 
That’s all. No further argument’s necessary. The 
jury is satisfied and the verdict is that you needn’t fuss. 
So that’s that, and let’s talk about something else.’ 

‘I’m not so sure,’ Lady Maud answered. ‘Is it right 
to bribe people to do right? Sometimes it has seemed 
very like that!’ 

‘I don’t set up to be an expert in morality,’ retorted 
Van Torp, ‘but if money, properly used, can prevent 
murder, I guess that’s better than letting the murder 
be committed. You must allow that. The same way 
with other crimes, isn’t it? And so on, down to mere 
misdemeanours, till you come to ordinary morality. 
Now what have you got to say? If it isn’t much better 
for the people themselves to lead decent fives just for 
money’s sake, it’s certainly much better for everybody 
else that they should. That appears to me to be un- 
answerable. You didn’t start in with the idea of mak- 
ing those poor things just like you, I suppose. You 
can’t train a cart-horse to win the Derby. Yet all their 
nonsense about equality rests on the theory that you 


358 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XVII 


can. You can’t make a good judge out of a criminal, no 
matter how the criminal repents of his crimes. He’s 
not been born the intellectual equal of the man who’s 
born to judge him. His mind is biassed. Perhaps he’s 
a degenerate — everything one isn’t oneself is called 
degenerate nowadays. It helps things, I suppose. And 
you can’t expect to collect a lot of poor wretches to- 
gether and manufacture first-class Magdalens out of 
ninety-nine per cent of them, because you’re the one 
that needs no repentance, can you? I forget whether 
the Bible says it was ninety-nine who did or ninety-nine 
who didn’t, but you’ll understand my drift, I dare- 
say. It’s logic, if it isn’t Scripture. All right. As long 
as you can stop the evil, without doing wrong yourself, 
you’re bringing about a good result. So don’t fuss. 
See?’ 

'Yes, I see!’ Lady Maud smiled. 'But it’s your 
money that does it!’ 

'That’s nothing,’ Van Torp said, as if he disliked the 
subject. 

He changed it effectually by speaking of his own 
present intentions and explaining to his friend what he 
meant to do. 

His point of view seemed to be that Bamberger was 
quite mad since his daughter’s death, and had built up 
a sensational but clumsy case, with the help of the man 
Feist, whose evidence, as a confirmed dipsomaniac, would 
be all but worthless. It was possible, Van Torp said, 
that Miss Bamberger had been killed; in fact, Griggs’ 
evidence alone would almost prove it. But the chances 


CHAP. XVH 


THE PRIMADONNA 


359 


were a thousand to one that she had been killed by a 
maniac. Such murders were not so uncommon as Lady 
Maud might think. The police in all countries know 
how many cases occur which can be explained only on 
that theory, and how diabolically ingenious madmen are 
in covering, their tracks. 

Lady Maud believed all he told her, and had perfect 
faith in his innocence, but she knew instinctively that 
he was not telling her all; and the certainty that he was 
keeping back something made her nervous. 

In due time the other guests came; each in turn met 
Mr. Van Torp soon after arriving, if not at the moment 
when they entered the house; and they shook hands 
with him, and almost all knew why he was there, but 
those who did not were soon told by the others. 

The fact of having been asked to a country house for 
the express purpose of being shown by ocular demon- 
stration that something is ‘all right’ which has been 
very generally said or thought to be all wrong, does not 
generally contribute to the light-heartedness of such 
parties. Moreover, the very young element was hardly 
represented, and there was a dearth of those sprightly 
boys and girls who think it the acme of delicate wit to 
shut up an aunt in the ice-box and throw the billiard- 
table out of the window. Neither Lady Maud nor her 
father liked what Mr. Van Torp called a ‘circus’; and 
besides, the modern youths and maids who delight in 
practical jokes were not the people whose good opinion 
about the millionaire it was desired to obtain, or to 
strengthen, as the case might be. The guests, far from 


360 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XVII 


being what Lady Maud’s brothers called a menagerie, 
were for the most part of the graver sort whose approval 
weighs in proportion as they are themselves social heavy- 
weights. There was the Leader of the House, there were 
a couple of members of the Cabinet, there was the Master 
of the Foxhounds, there was the bishop of the diocese, 
and there was one of the big Derbyshire landowners; 
there was an ex-governor-general of something, an ex- 
ambassador to the United States, and a famous general; 
there was a Hebrew financier of London, and Logotheti, 
the Greek financier from Paris, who were regarded as 
colleagues of Van Torp, the American financier; there 
was the scientific peer who had dined at the Turkish 
Embassy with Lady Maud, there was the peer whose 
horse had just won the Derby, and there was the peer 
who knew German and was looked upon as the coming 
man in the Upper House. Many had their wives with 
them, and some had lost their wives or could not bring 
them; but very few were looking for a wife, and there 
were no young women looking for husbands, since the 
Senorita da Cordova was apparently not to be reckoned 
with those. 

Now at this stage of my story it would be unpardon- 
able to keep my readers in suspense, if I may suppose 
that any of them have a little curiosity left. Therefore 
I shall not narrate in detail what happened on Friday, 
Saturday, and Sunday, seeing that it was just what 
might have been expected to happen at a week-end 
party during the season when there is nothing in the 
world to do but to play golf, tennis, or croquet, or to 


CHAP. XVII 


THE PRIMADONNA 


361 


ride or drive all day, and to work hard at bridge all the 
evening; for that is what it has come to. 

Everything went very well till Sunday night, and 
most of the people formed a much better opinion of 
Mr. Van Torp than those who had lately read about 
him in the * newspapers might have thought possible. 
The Cabinet Ministers talked politics with him and 
found him sound — for an American; the M.F.H. saw him 
ride, and felt for him exactly the sympathy which a Don 
Cossack, a cowboy, and a Bedouin might feel for each 
other if they met on horseback, and which needs no 
expression in words; and the three distinguished peers 
liked him at once, because he was not at all impressed 
by their social greatness, but was very much interested 
in what they had to say respectively about science, 
horse-breeding, and Herr Bebel. The great London 
financier, and he, and Monsieur Logotheti exchanged 
casual remarks which all the men who were interested 
in politics referred to mysterious loans that must affect 
the armaments of the combined powers and the peace 
of Europe. 

Mr. Van Torp kept away from the Primadonna, and 
she watched him curiously, a good deal surprised to see 
that most of the others liked him better than she had 
expected. She was rather agreeably disappointed, too, 
at the reception she herself met with. Lord Creedmore 
spoke of her only as ‘Miss Donne, the daughter of his 
oldest friend/ and every one treated her accordingly. 
No one even mentioned her profession, and possibly 
some of the guests did not quite realise that she was the 


362 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XVII 


famous Cordova. Lady Maud never suggested that she 
should sing, and Lord Creedmore detested music. The 
old piano in the long drawing-room was hardly ever 
opened. It had been placed there in Victorian days 
when ‘a little music ’ was the rule, and since the happy 
abolition of that form of terror it had been left where 
it stood, and was tuned once a year, in case anybody 
should want a dance when there were young people in 
the house. 

A girl might as well master the Assyrian language in 
order to compose hymns to Tiglath-Pileser as learn 
to play the piano nowadays, but bridge is played at 
children’s parties; let us not speak ill of the Bridge that 
has carried us over. 

Margaret was not out of her element; on the contrary, 
she at first had the sensation of finding herself amongst 
rather grave and not uncongenial English people, not 
so very different from those with whom she had spent 
her early girlhood at Oxford. It was not strange to 
her, but it was no longer familiar, and she missed the 
surroundings to which she had grown accustomed. 
Hitherto, when she had been asked to join such parties, 
there had been at least a few of those persons who are 
supposed to delight especially in the society of sopranos, 
actresses, and lionesses generally; but none of them were 
at Craythew. She was suddenly transported back into 
regions where nobody seemed to care a straw whether 
she could sing or not, where nobody flattered her, and 
no one suggested that it would be amusing and instruc- 
tive to make a trip to Spain together, or that a charm- 


CHAP. XVII 


THE PRIMADONNA 


363 


ing little kiosk at Therapia was at her disposal whenever 
she chose to visit the Bosphorus. 

There was only Logotheti to remind her of her every- 
day life, for Griggs did not do so at all; he belonged 
much more to the 1 atmosphere/ and though she knew 
that he had loved in his youth a woman who had a 
beautiful voice, he understood nothing of music and 
never talked about it. As for Lady Maud, Margaret 
saw much less of her than she had expected; the hostess 
was manifestly preoccupied, and was, moreover, obliged 
to give more of her time to her guests than would have 
been necessary if they had been of the younger genera- 
tion or if the season had been winter. 

Margaret noticed in herself a new phase of change 
with regard to Logotheti, and she did not like it at all : 
he had become necessary to her, and yet she was secretly 
a little ashamed of him. In that temple of respect- 
ability where she found herself, in such ‘a cloister of 
social pillars ’ as Logotheti called the party, he was a 
discordant figure. She was haunted by a painful doubt 
that if he had not been a very important financier some 
of those quiet middle-aged Englishmen might have 
thought him a ' bounder,’ because of his ruby pin, his 
summer-lightning waistcoats, and his almond-shaped 
eyes. It was very unpleasant to be so strongly drawn to 
a man whom such people probably thought a trifle ‘off.’ 

It irritated her to be obliged to admit that the London 
financier, who was a professed and professing Hebrew, 
was in appearance an English gentleman, whereas Kon- 
stantinos Logotheti, with a pedigree of Christian and 


364 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XVII 


not unpersecuted Fanariote ancestors, that went back 
to Byzantine times without the least suspicion of any 
Semitic marriage, might have been taken for a Jew in 
Lombard Street, and certainly would have been thought 
one in Berlin. A man whose eyes suggested dark 
almonds need not cover himself with jewellery and 
adorn himself in flaming colours, Margaret thought; 
and she resented his way of dressing, much more than 
ever before. Lady Maud had called him exotic, and 
Margaret could not forget that. By 'exotic’ she was 
sure that her friend meant something like vulgar, though 
Lady Maud said she liked him. 

But the events that happened at Craythew on Sunday 
evening threw such insignificant details as these into 
the shade, and brought out the true character of the 
chief actors, amongst whom Margaret very unexpectedly 
found herself. 

It was late in the afternoon after a really cloud- 
less June day, and she had been for a long ramble in the 
park with Lord Creedmore, who had talked to her about 
her father and the old Oxford days, till all her present 
life seemed to be a mere dream; and she could not rea- 
lise, as she went up to her room, that she was to go back 
to London on the morrow, to the theatre, to rehearsals, 
to Pompeo Stromboli, Schreiermeyer, and the public. 

She met Logotheti in the gallery that ran round two 
sides of the hall, and they both stopped and leaned over 
the balustrade to talk a little. 

'It has been very pleasant,’ she said thoughtfully. 
'I’m sorry it’s over so soon.’ 


CHAP. XVII 


THE PRIMADONNA 


365 


' Whenever you are inclined to lead this sort of life/ 
Logotheti answered with a laugh, ‘you need only drop 
me a line. You shall have a beautiful old house and a 
big park and a perfect colonnade of respectabilities — 
and I’ll promise not to be a bore.’ 

Margaret looked at him earnestly for some seconds, 
and then asked a very unexpected and frivolous ques- 
tion, because she simply could not help it. 

‘Where did you get that tie?’ 

The question was strongly emphasised, for it meant 
much more to her just then than he could possibly have 
guessed; perhaps it meant something which was affecting 
her whole life. He laughed carelessly. 

‘It’s better to dress like Solomon in all his glory than 
to be taken for a Levantine gambler,’ he answered. ‘In 
the days when I was simple-minded, a foreigner in a fur 
coat and an eyeglass once stopped me in the Boulevard 
des Italiens and asked if I could give him the address of 
any house where a roulette-table was kept! After that 
I took to jewels and dress!’ 

Margaret wondered why she could not help liking him; 
and by sheer force of habit she thought that he would 
make a very good-looking stage Romeo. 

While she was thinking of that and smiling in spite 
of his tie, the old clock in the hall below chimed the hour, 
and it was a quarter to seven; and at the same moment 
three men were getting out of a train that had stopped 
at the Craythew station, three miles from Lord Creed- 
more’s gate. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


The daylight dinner was over, and the large party was 
more or less scattered about the drawing-room and the 
adjoining picture-gallery in groups of three and four, 
mostly standing while they drank their coffee, and con- 
tinued or finished the talk begun at table. 

By force of habit Margaret had stopped beside the 
closed piano, and had seated herself on the old-fashioned 
stool to have her coffee. Lady Maud stood beside her, 
leaning against the corner of the instrument, her cup 
in her hand, and the two young women exchanged 
rather idle observations about the lovely day that was 
over, and the perfect weather. Both were preoccupied 
and they did not look at each other; Margaret’s eyes 
watched Logotheti, who was half-way down the long 
room, before a portrait by Sir Peter Lely, of which he 
was apparently pointing out the beauties to the elderly 
wife of the scientific peer. Lady Maud was looking out 
at the light in the sunset sky above the trees beyond 
the flower-beds and the great lawn, for the piano stood 
near an open window. From time to time she turned 
her head quickly and glanced towards Van Torp, who 
was talking with her father at some distance; then she 
looked out of the window again. 

It was a warm evening; in the dusk of the big rooms 
366 


CHAP. XVIII 


THE PRIMADONNA 


367 


the hum of voices was low and pleasant, broken only 
now and then by Van Torp’s more strident tone. Out- 
side it was still light, and the starlings and blackbirds 
and thrushes were finishing their supper, picking up 
the unwary worms and the tardy little snails, and mak- 
ing a good deal of sweet noise about it. 

Margaret set down her cup on the lid of the piano, 
and at the slight sound Lady Maud turned towards her, 
so that their eyes met. Each noticed the other’s ex- 
pression. 

‘What is it?’ asked Lady Maud, with a little smile 
of friendly concern. ‘Is anything wrong?’ 

‘No — that is — ’ Margaret smiled too, as she hesi- 
tated — ‘I was going to ask you the same question,’ 
she added quickly. 

‘It’s nothing more than usual,’ returned her friend. 
‘I think it has gone very well, don’t you, these three 
days? He has made a good impression on everybody 
— don’t you think so?’ 

‘Oh yes!’ Margaret answered readily. ‘Excellent! 
Could not be better! I confess to being surprised, just 
a little — I mean,’ she corrected herself hastily, ‘after 
all the talk there has been, it might not have turned out 
so easy.’ 

‘Don’t you feel a little less prejudiced against him 
yourself?’ asked Lady Maud. 

‘Prejudiced!’ Margaret repeated the word thought- 
fully. ‘Yes, I suppose I’m prejudiced against him. 
That’s the only word. Perhaps it’s hateful of me, but 
I cannot help it — and I wish you wouldn’t make me 


368 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XVIII 


own it to you, for it’s humiliating! Fd like him, if I 
could, for your sake. But you must take the wish for 
the deed.’ 

‘That’s better than nothing!’ Lady Maud seemed to 
be trying to laugh a little, but it was with an effort and 
there was no ripple in her voice. ‘ You have something 
on your mind, too,’ she went on, to change the subject. 
Ms anything troubling you?’ 

‘Only the same old question. It’s not worth men- 
tioning!’ 

‘To marry, or not to marry?’ 

‘Yes. I suppose I shall take the leap some day, and 
probably in the dark, and then I shall be sorry for it. 
Most of you have!’ 

She looked up at Lady Maud with a rather uncertain, 
flickering smile, as if she wished her mind to be made 
up for her, and her hands lay weakly in her lap, the 
palms almost upwards. 

‘Oh, don’t ask me!’ cried her friend, answering the 
look rather than the words, and speaking with some- 
thing approaching to vehemence. 

‘Do you wish you had waited for the other one till ' 
now?’ asked Margaret softly, but she did not know that 
he had been killed in South Africa; she had never seen 
the shabby little photograph. 

‘Yes — for ever!’ 

That was all Lady Maud said, and the two words 
were not uttered dramatically either, though gravely 
and without the least doubt. 

The butler and two men appeared, to collect the coffee 


CHAP. XVIII 


THE PRIMADONNA 


369 


cups; the former had a small salver in his hand and came 
directly to Lady Maud. He brought a telegram for her. 

'You don’t mind, do you?’ she asked Margaret me- 
chanically, as she opened it. 

'Of course,’ answered the other in the same tone, 
and she looked through the open window while her 
friend read the message. 

It was from the Embassy in London, and it informed 
her in the briefest terms that Count Leven had been 
killed in St. Petersburg on the previous day, in the 
street, by a bomb intended for a high official. Lady 
Maud made no sound, but folded the telegram into a 
small square and turned her back to the room for a 
moment in order to slip it unnoticed into the body of 
her black velvet gown. As she recovered her former 
attitude she was surprised to see that the butler was 
still standing two steps from her where he had stopped 
after he had taken the cups from the piano and set 
them on the small salver on which he had brought the 
message. He evidently wanted to say something to 
her alone. 

Lady Maud moved away from the piano, and he 
followed her a little beyond the window, till she stopped 
and turned to hear what he had to say. 

'There are three persons asking for Mr. Van Torp, 
my lady,’ he said in a very low tone, and she noticed 
the disturbed look in his face. 'They’ve got a motor- 
car waiting in the avenue.’ 

'What sort of people are they?’ she asked quietly; 
but she felt that she was pale. 

2 B 


370 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XVIII 


'To tell the truth, my lady/ the butler spoke in a 
whisper, bending his head, 'I think they are from Scot- 
land Yard.’ 

Lady Maud knew it already ; she had almost guessed it 
when she had glanced at his face before he spoke at all. 

'Show them into the old study/ she said, 'and ask 
them to wait a moment.’ 

The butler went away with his two coffee cups, and 
scarcely any one had noticed that Lady Maud had ex- 
changed a few words with him by the window. She 
turned back to the piano, where Margaret was still 
sitting on the stool with her hands in her lap, looking at 
Logotheti in the distance and wondering whether she 
meant to marry him or not. 

'No bad news, I hope?’ asked the singer, looking up 
as her friend came to her side. 

'Not very good/ Lady Maud answered, leaning her 
elbow on the piano. 'Should you mind singing some- 
thing to keep the party together while I talk to some 
tiresome men who are in the old study? On these June 
evenings people have a way of wandering out into the 
garden after dinner. I should like to keep every one 
in the house for a quarter of an hour, and if you will 
only sing for them they won’t stir. Will you?’ 

Margaret looked at her curiously. 

'I think I understand/ Margaret said. 'The people 
in the study are asking for Mr. Van Torp.’ 

Lady Maud nodded, not surprised that Logotheti 
should have told the Primadonna something about 
what he had been doing. 


CHAP. XVIII 


THE PRIMADONNA 


371 


‘Then you believe he is innocent/ she said confidently. 
‘Even though you don’t like him, you’ll help me, won’t 
you?’ 

‘I’ll do anything you ask me. But I should 
think ’ 

‘No/ Lady Maud interrupted. ‘He must not be 
arrested at all. I know that he would rather face the 
detectives than run away, even for a few hours, till the 
truth is known. But I won’t let him. It would be 
published all over the world to-morrow morning that 
he had been arrested for murder in my father’s house, 
and it would never be forgotten against him, though 
he might be proved innocent ten times over. That’s 
what I want to prevent. Will you help me?’ 

As she spoke the last words she raised the front lid 
of the piano, and Margaret turned on her seat towards 
the instrument to open the keyboard, nodding her 
assent. 

‘Just play a little, till I am out of the room, and then 
sing/ said Lady Maud. 

The great artist’s fingers felt the keys as her friend 
turned away. Anything theatrical was natural to her 
now, and she began to play very softly, watching the 
moving figure in black velvet as she would have watched 
a fellow singer on the stage while waiting to go on. 

Lady Maud did not speak to Van Torp first, but to 
Griggs, and then to Logotheti, and the two men slipped 
away together and disappeared. Then she came back 
to Van Torp, smiling pleasantly. He was still talking 
with Lord Creedmore, but the latter, at a word from 


372 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XVIII 


his daughter, went off to the elderly peeress whom 
Logo the ti had abruptly left alone before the portrait. 

Margaret did not hear what Lady Maud said to the 
American, but it was evidently not yet a warning, for 
her smile did not falter, and he looked pleased as he 
came back with her, and they passed near the piano to 
go out through the open window upon the broad flagged 
terrace that separated the house from the flower-beds. 

The Primadonna played a little louder now, so that 
every one heard the chords, even in the picture-gallery, 
and a good many men were rather bored at the prospect 
of music. 

Then the Senorita da Cordova raised her head and 
looked over the grand piano, and her lips parted, and 
boredom vanished very suddenly; for even those who 
did not take much pleasure in the music were amazed 
by the mere sound of her voice and by its incredible 
flexibility. 

She meant to astonish her hearers and keep them 
quiet, and she knew what to sing to gain her end, and 
how to sing it. Those who have not forgotten the 
story of her beginnings will remember that she was a 
thorough musician as well as a great singer, and was 
one of those very few primadonnas who are able to 
accompany themselves from memory without a false 
note through any great piece they know, from Lucia 
to Parsifal. 

She began with the waltz song in the first act of 
Romeo and Juliet. It was the piece that had revealed 
her talent to Madame Bonanni, who had accidentally 


CHAP. XVIII 


THE PRIMADONNA 


373 


overheard her singing to herself, and it suited her pur- 
pose admirably. Such fireworks could not fail to 
astound, even if they did not please, and half the full 
volume of her voice was more than enough for the long 
drawing-room, into which the whole party gathered 
almost as soon as she began to sing. Such trifles as 
having just dined, or having just waked up in the 
morning, have little influence on the few great natural 
voices of the world, which begin with twice the power 
and beauty that the ' built-up’ ones acquire in years of 
study. Ordinary people go to a concert, to the opera, 
to a circus, to university sports, and hear and see 
things that interest or charm, or sometimes surprise 
them; but they are very much amazed if they ever 
happen to find out in private life what a really great 
professional of any sort can do at a pinch, if put to it 
by any strong motive. If it had been necessary, Mar- 
garet could have sung to the party in the drawing-room 
at Craythew for an hour at a stretch with no more rest 
than her accompaniments afforded. 

Her hearers were the more delighted because it was 
so spontaneous, and there was not the least affectation 
about it. During these days no one had even suggested 
that she should make music, or be anything except 
the 'daughter of Lord Creedmore’s old friend.' But 
now, apparently, she had sat down to the piano to give 
them all a concert, for the sheer pleasure of singing, 
and they were not only pleased with her, but with 
themselves; for the public, and especially audiences, 
are more easily flattered by a great artist who chooses 


374 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XVIII 


to treat his hearers as worthy of his best, than the artist 
himself is by the applause he hears for the thousandth 
time. 

So the Senorita da Cordova held the party at Cray- 
thew spellbound while other things were happening 
very near them which would have interested them much 
more than her trills, and her ‘mordentini/ and her 
soaring runs, and the high staccato notes that rang 
down from the ceiling as if some astounding and in- 
visible instrument were up there, supported by an 
unseen force. 

Meanwhile Paul Griggs and Logotheti had stopped 
a moment in the first of the rooms that contained the 
library, on their way to the old study beyond. 

It was almost dark amongst the huge oak bookcases, 
and both men stopped at the same moment by a com- 
mon instinct, to agree quickly upon some plan of action. 
They had led adventurous fives, and were not likely 
to stick at trifles, if they believed themselves to be in 
the right; but if they had left the drawing-room with 
the distinct expectation of anything like a fight, they 
would certainly not have stopped to waste their time 
in talking. 

The Greek spoke first. 

‘ Perhaps you had better let me do the talking/ he 
said. 

‘By all means/ answered Griggs. ‘I am not good 
at that. Pll keep quiet, unless we have to handle 
them/ 

‘All right, and if you have any trouble I’ll join in and 


CHAP. XVIII 


THE PRIMADONNA 


375 


help you. Just set your back against the door if they 
try to get out while I am speaking/ 

‘Yes.’ 

That was all, and they went on in the gathering 
gloom, through the three rooms of the library, to the 
door of the old study, from which a short winding stair- 
case led up to the two small rooms which Griggs was 
occupying. 

Three quiet men in dark clothes were standing to- 
gether in the twilight, in the bay window at the other 
side of the room, and they moved and turned then- 
heads quickly as the door opened. Logo the ti went up 
to them, while Griggs remained near the door, looking 
on. 

'What can I do for you?’ inquired the Greek, with 
much urbanity. 

'We wished to speak with Mr. Van Torp, who is stop- 
ping here,’ answered the one of the three men who 
stood farthest forward. 

'Oh yes, yes!’ said Logotheti at once, as if assenting. 
'Certainly! Lady Maud Leven, Lord Creedmore’s 
daughter — Lady Creedmore is away, you know — 
has asked us to inquire just what you want of Mr. Van 
Torp.’ 

'It’s a personal matter,’ replied the spokesman. 'I 
will explain it to him, if you will kindly ask him to 
come here a moment.’ 

Logotheti smiled pleasantly. 

'Quite so,’ he said. 'You are, no doubt, reporters, 
and wish to interview him. As a personal friend of 


376 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XVIII 


his, and between you and me, I don’t think he’ll see 
you. You had better write and ask for an appoint- 
ment. Don’t you think so, Griggs?’ 

The author’s large, grave features relaxed in a smile 
of amusement as he nodded his approval of the plan. 

‘We do not represent the press,’ answered the man. 

‘Ah! Indeed? How very odd! But of course — ’ 
Logo the ti pretended to understand suddenly — ‘how 
stupid of me! No doubt you are from the bank. Am 
I not right?’ 

‘No. You are mistaken. We are not from Thread- 
needle Street.’ 

‘Well, then, unless you will enlighten me, I really 
cannot imagine who you are or where you come from!’ 

‘We wish to speak in private with Mr. Van Torp.’ 

‘In private, too?’ Logo the ti shook his head, and 
turned to Griggs. ‘Really, this looks rather suspicious; 
don’t you think so?’ 

Griggs said nothing, but the smile became a broad 
grin. 

The spokesman, on his side, turned to his two com- 
panions and whispered, evidently consulting them as 
to the course he should pursue. 

‘Especially after the warning Lord Creedmore has 
received,’ said Logo the ti to Griggs in a very audible 
tone, as if explaining his last speech. 

The man turned to him again and spoke in a gravely 
determined tone — 

‘I must really insist upon seeing Mr. Van Torp im- 
mediately,’ he said. 


CHAP. XVIII 


THE PRIMADONNA 


377 


‘ Yes, yes, I quite understand you/ answered Logotheti, 
looking at him with a rather pitying smile, and then 
turning to Griggs again, as if for advice. 

The elder man was much amused by the ease with 
which the Greek had so far put off the unwelcome 
visitors and gained time; but he saw that the scene 
must soon come to a crisis, and prepared for action, 
keeping his eye on the three, in case they should make 
a dash at the door that communicated with the rest of 
the house. 

During the two or three seconds that followed, 
Logotheti reviewed the situation. It would be an easy 
matter to trick the three men into the short winding 
staircase that led up to the rooms Griggs occupied, and 
if the upper and lower doors were locked and barricaded, 
the prisoners could not forcibly get out. But it was 
certain that the leader of the party had a warrant 
about him, and this must be taken from him before 
locking him up, and without any acknowledgment of 
its validity; for even the lawless Greek was aware that 
it was not good to interfere with officers of the law in 
the execution of their duty. If there had been more 
time he might have devised some better means of attain- 
ing his end than occurred to him just then. 

'They must be the lunatics/ he said to Griggs, with 
the utmost calm. 

The spokesman started and stared, and his jaw 
dropped. For a moment he could not speak. 

'You know Lord Creedmore was warned this morn- 
ing that a number had escaped from the county asylum/ 


378 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XVIII 


continued Logotheti, still speaking to Griggs, and pre- 
tending to lower his voice. 

‘ Lunatics?’ roared the man when he got his breath, 
exasperated out of his civil manner. ‘ Lunatics, sir? 
We are from Scotland Yard, sir, I’d have you know!’ 

‘Yes, yes,’ answered the Greek, ‘we quite understand. 
Humour them, my dear chap,’ he added in an under- 
tone that was meant to be heard. ‘Yes,’ he continued 
in a cajoling tone, ‘I guessed at once that you were 
from police headquarters. If you’ll kindly show me 
your warrant ’ 

He stopped politely, and nudged Griggs with his elbow, 
so that the detectives should be sure to see the move- 
ment. The chief saw the awkwardness of his own po- 
sition, measured the bony veteran and the athletic 
foreigner with his eye, and judged that if the two were 
convinced that they were dealing with madmen they 
would make a pretty good fight. 

‘Excuse me,’ the officer said, speaking calmly, ‘but 
you are under a gross misapprehension about us. This 
paper will remove it at once, I trust, and you will not 
hinder us in the performance of an unpleasant duty.’ 

He produced an official envelope, handed it to Lo- 
go the ti, and waited for the result. 

It was unexpected when it came. Logotheti took the 
paper, and as it was now almost dark he looked about 
for the key of the electric light. Griggs was now close 
to him by the door through which they had entered, 
and behind which the knob was placed. 

‘If I can get them upstairs, lock and barricade the 


CHAP. XVIII 


THE PRIMADONNA 


379 


lower door/ whispered the Greek as he turned up the 
light. 

He took the paper under a bracket light on the other 
side of the room, beside the door of the winding stair, 
and began to read. 

His face was a study, and Griggs watched it, wonder- 
ing what was coming. As Logotheti read and reread 
the few short sentences, he was apparently seized by a 
fit of mirth which he struggled in vain to repress, and 
which soon broke out into uncontrollable laughter. 

‘The cleverest trick you ever saw!’ he managed to 
get out between his paroxysms. 

It was so well done that the detective was seriously em- 
barrassed; but after a moment’s hesitation he judged that 
he ought to get his warrant back at all hazards, and he 
moved towards Logotheti with a menacing expression. 

But the Greek, pretending to be afraid that the sup- 
posed lunatic was going to attack him, uttered an 
admirable yell of fear, opened the door close at his 
hand, rushed through, slammed it behind him, and fled 
up the dark stairs. 

The detective lost no time, and followed in hot 
pursuit, his two companions tearing up after him into 
the darkness. Then Griggs quietly turned the key in 
the lock, for he was sure that Logotheti had reached the 
top in time to fasten the upper door, and must be 
already barricading it. Griggs proceeded to do the same, 
quietly and systematically, and the great strength he 
had not yet lost served him well, for the furniture in the 
room was heavy. In a couple of minutes it would have 


380 


THE PKIMADONNA 


CHAP. XVIII 


needed sledge-hammers and crowbars to break out by 
the lower entrance, even if the lock had not been a 
solid one. 

Griggs then turned out the lights, and went quietly 
back through the library to the other part of the house 
to find Lady Maud. 

Logotheti, having meanwhile made the upper door 
perfectly secure, descended by the open staircase to 
the hall, and sent the first footman he met to call the 
butler, with whom he said he wished to speak. The 
butler came at once. 

‘Lady Maud asked me to see those three men/ said 
Logotheti in a low tone. ‘Mr. Griggs and I are con- 
vinced that they are lunatics escaped from the asylum, 
and we have locked them up securely in the staircase 
beyond the study.' 

‘Yes, sir/ said the butler, as if Logotheti had been 
explaining how he wished his shoe-leather to be treated. 

‘I think you had better telephone for the doctor, and 
explain everything to him over the wire without speak- 
ing to Lord Creedmore just yet.' 

‘Yes, sir.' 

‘How long will it take the doctor to get here?' 

‘Perhaps an hour, sir, if he's at home. Couldn't say 
precisely, sir.' 

‘Very good. There is no hurry; and of course her 
ladyship will be particularly anxious that none of her 
friends should guess what has happened; you see there 
would be a general panic if it were known that there 
are escaped lunatics in the house.' 


CHAP. XVIII 


THE PRIMADONNA 


381 


‘Yes, sir/ 

‘ Perhaps you had better take a couple of men you can 
trust, and pile up some more furniture against the doors, 
above and below. One cannot be too much on the safe 
side in such cases.’ 

‘Yes, sir. I’ll do it at once, sir.’ 

Logotheti strolled back towards the gallery in a very 
unconcerned way. As for the warrant, he had burnt 
it in the empty fireplace in Griggs’ room after making 
all secure, and had dusted down the black ashes so 
carefully that they had quite disappeared under the 
grate. After all, as the doctor would arrive in the firm 
expectation of finding three escaped madmen under 
lock and key, the Scotland Yard men might have some 
difficulty in proving themselves sane until they could 
communicate with their headquarters, and by that time 
Mr. Van Torp could be far on his way if he chose. 

When Logotheti reached the door of the drawing- 
room, Margaret was finishing Rosina’s Cavatina from 
the Barbiere di Siviglia in a perfect storm of fireworks, 
having transposed the whole piece two notes higher 
to suit her own voice, for it was originally written for a 
mezzo-soprano. 

Lady Maud and Van Torp had gone out upon the 
terrace unnoticed a moment before Margaret had begun 
to sing. The evening was still and cloudless, and 
presently the purple twilight would pale under the sum- 
mer moon, and the garden and the lawns would be 
once more as bright as day. The friends walked quickly, 
for Lady Maud set the pace and led Van Torp toward 


382 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XVIII 


the trees, where the stables stood, quite hidden from 
the house. As soon as she reached the shade she stood 
still and spoke in a low voice. 

‘You have waited too long/ she said. ‘Three men 
have come to arrest you, and their motor is over there 
in the avenue.’ 

‘Where are they?’ inquired the American, evidently 
not at all disturbed. ‘I’ll see them at once, please.’ 

‘And give yourself up?’ 

‘I don’t care.’ 

‘Here?’ 

‘Why not? Do you suppose I am going to run away? 
A man who gets out in a hurry doesn’t usually look 
innocent, does he?’ 

Lady Maud asserted herself. 

‘You must think of me and of my father,’ she said in 
a tone of authority Van Torp had never heard from her. 
‘I know you’re as innocent as I am, but after all that 
has been said and written about you, and about you and 
me together, it’s quite impossible that you should let 
yourself be arrested in our house, in the midst of a party 
that has been asked here expressly to be convinced that 
my father approves of you. Do you see that?’ 

‘Well ’ Mr. Van Torp hesitated, with his thumbs 

in his waistcoat pockets. 

Across the lawn, from the open window, Margaret’s 
voice rang out like a score of nightingales in unison. 

‘There’s no time to discuss it,’ Lady Maud said. ‘I 
asked her to sing, so as to keep the people together. 
Before she has finished, you must be out of reach.’ 


CHAP. XVIII 


THE PRIMADONNA 


383 


Mr. Van Torp smiled. 'You’re remarkably positive 
about it/ he said. 

'You must get to town before the Scotland Yard 
people, and I don’t know how much start they will 
give you. It depends on how long Mr. Griggs and 
Logotheti can keep them in the old study. It will be 
neck and neck, I fancy. I’ll go with you to the stables. 
You must ride to your own place as hard as you can, 
and go up to London in your car to-night. The roads 
are pretty clear on Sundays, and there’s moonlight, so 
you will have no trouble. It will be easy to say here 
that you have been called away suddenly. Come, you 
must go!’ 

Lady Maud moved towards the stables, and Van Torp 
was obliged to follow her. Far away Margaret was 
singing the last bars of the waltz song. 

'I must say,’ observed Mr. Van Torp thoughtfully, 
as they walked on, 'for a lady who’s generally what I 
call quite feminine, you make a man sit up pretty 
quick.’ 

'It’s not exactly the time to choose for loafing,’ 
answered Lady Maud. 'By the bye,’ she added, 'you 
may as well know. Poor Leven is dead. I had a 
telegram a few minutes ago. He was killed yesterday 
by a bomb meant for somebody else.’ 

Van Torp stood still, and Lady Maud stopped with 
evident reluctance. 

'And there are people who don’t believe in Provi- 
dence,’ he said slowly. 'Well, I congratulate you any- 
way.’ 


384 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP, xvni 


‘Hush, the poor man is dead. We needn’t talk about 
him. Come, there’s no time to lose!’ She moved 
impatiently. 

‘So you’re a widow!’ Van Torp seemed to be mak- 
ing the remark to himself without expecting any answer, 
but it at once suggested a question. ‘And now what 
do you propose to do?’ he inquired. ‘But I expect 
you’ll be a nun, or something. I’d like you to arrange 
so that I can see you sometimes, will you?’ 

‘I’m not going to disappear yet,’ Lady Maud answered 
gravely. 

They reached the stables, which occupied three sides 
of a square yard. At that hour the two grooms and the 
stable-boy were at their supper, and the coachman had 
gone home to his cottage. A big brown retriever on a 
chain was sitting bolt upright beside his kennel, and 
began to thump the flagstones with his tail as soon as 
he recognised Lady Maud. From within a fox-terrier 
barked two or three times. Lady Maud opened a door, 
and he sprang out at her yapping, but was quiet as soon 
as he knew her. 

‘You’d better take the Lancashire Lass/ she said to 
Van Torp. ‘You’re heavier than my father, but it’s 
not far to ride, and she’s a clever creature.’ 

She had turned up the electric light while speaking, for 
it was dark inside the stable; she got a bridle, went into 
the box herself, and slipped it over the mare’s pretty 
head. Van Torp saw that it was useless to offer help. 

‘Don’t bother about a saddle,’ he said; ‘it’s a waste 
of time.’ 


CHAP. XVIII 


THE PRIMADONNA 


385 


He touched the mare’s face and lips with his hand, 
and she understood him, and let him lead her out. He 
vaulted upon her back, and Lady Maud walked beside 
him till they were outside the yard. 

‘If you had a high hat it would look like the circus,’ 
she said, glancing at his evening dress. ‘Now get away! 
I’ll be in town on Tuesday; let me know what happens. 
Good-bye! Be sure to let me know.’ 

‘Yes. Don’t worry. I’m only going because you 
insist, anyhow. Good-bye. God bless you!’ 

He waved his hand, the mare sprang forward, and in 
a few seconds he was out of sight amongst the trees. 
Lady Maud listened to the regular sound of the gallop- 
ing hoofs on the turf, and at the same time from very 
far off she heard Margaret’s high trills and quick staccato 
notes. At that moment the moon was rising through 
the late twilight, and a nightingale high overhead, no 
doubt judging her little self to be quite as great a musi- 
cian as the famous Cordova, suddenly began a very 
wonderful piece of her own, just half a tone higher than 
Margaret’s, which might have distressed a sensitive 
musician, but did not jar in the least on Lady Maud’s 
ear. 

Now that she had sent Van Torp on his way, she would 
gladly have walked alone in the park for half an hour to 
collect her thoughts; but people who live in the world 
are rarely allowed any pleasant leisure when they need 
it, and many of the most dramatic things in real life 
happen when we are in such a hurry that we do not 
half understand them. So the moment that should 
2c 


386 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XVIII 


have been the happiest of all goes dashing by when we 
are hastening to catch a train; so the instant of triumph 
after years of labour or weeks of struggling is upon us 
when we are perhaps positively obliged to write three 
important notes in twenty minutes : and sometimes, too, 
and mercifully, the pain of parting is numbed just as 
the knife strikes the nerve, by the howling confusion of 
a railway station that forces us to take care of ourselves 
and our belongings; and when the first instant of joy, 
or victory, or acute suffering is gone in a flash, memory 
never quite brings back all the happiness nor all the 
pain. 

Lady Maud could not have stayed away many minutes 
longer. She went back at once, entered by the garden 
window just as Margaret was finishing Rosina’s song, 
and remained standing behind her till she had sung the 
last note. English people rarely applaud conventional 
drawing-room music, but this had been something more, 
and the Craythew guests clapped their hands loudly, and 
even the elderly wife of the scientific peer emitted dis- 
tinctly audible sounds of satisfaction. Lady Maud bent 
her handsome head and kissed the singer affectionately, 
whispering words of heartfelt thanks. 


CHAPTER XIX 


Through the mistaken efforts of Isidore Bamberger, 
justice had got herself into difficulties, and it was as well 
for her reputation, which is not good nowadays, that 
the public never heard what happened on that night 
at Craythew, how the three best men who had been 
available at headquarters were discomfited in their well- 
meant attempt to arrest an innocent man, and how they 
spent two miserable hours together locked up in a dark 
winding staircase. For it chanced, as it will chance 
to the end of time, that the doctor was out when the 
butler telephoned to him ; it happened, too, that he was 
far from home, engaged in ushering a young gentleman 
of prosperous parentage into this world, an action of 
which the kindness might be questioned, considering 
that the poor little soul presumably came straight from 
paradise, with an indifferent chance of ever getting there 
again. So the doctor could not come. 

The three men were let out in due time, however, and 
as no trace of a warrant could be discovered at that 
hour, Logotheti and Griggs being already sound asleep, 
and as Lord Creedmore, in his dressing-gown and slippers, 
gave them a written statement to the effect that Mr. 
Van Torp was no longer at Craythew, they had no choice 
but to return to town, rather the worse for wear. What 
387 


388 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XIX 


they said to each other by the way may safely be left 
to the inexhaustible imagination of a gentle and sym- 
pathising reader. 

Their suppressed rage, their deep mortification, and 
their profound disgust were swept away in their over- 
whelming amazement, however, when they found that 
Mr. Rufus Van Torp, whom they had sought in Derby- 
shire, was in Scotland Yard before them, closeted with 
their Chief and explaining what an odd mistake the 
justice of two nations had committed in suspecting him 
to have been at the Metropolitan Opera-House in New 
York at the time of the explosion, since he had spent that 
very evening in Washington, in the private study of the 
Secretary of the Treasury, who wanted his confidential 
opinion on a question connected with Trusts before he 
went abroad. Mr. Van Torp stuck his thumbs into his 
waistcoat pockets and blandly insisted that the cables 
should be kept red-hot — at international expense — 
till the member of the Cabinet in Washington should 
answer corroborating the statement. Four o’clock in the 
morning in London was only eleven o’clock of the previ- 
ous evening, Mr. Van Torp explained, and it was ex- 
tremely unlikely that the Secretary of the Treasury 
should be in bed so early. If he was, he was certainly 
not asleep; and with the facilities at the disposal of 
governments there was no reason why the answer should 
not come back in forty minutes. 

It was imposssible to resist such simple logic. The 
lines were cleared for urgent official business between 
London and Washington, and in less than an hour the 


CHAP. XIX 


THE PRIMADONNA 


389 


answer came back, to the effect that Mr. Rufus Van 
Torp's statement was correct in every detail; and with- 
out any interval another official message arrived, revok- 
ing the request for his extradition, which ‘had been 
made under a most unfortunate misapprehension, due 
to the fact that Mr. Van Torp's visit to the Secretary 
of the Treasury had been regarded as confidential by 
the latter.' 

Scotland Yard expressed its regret, and Mr. Van Torp 
smiled and begged to be allowed, before leaving, to 
‘shake hands' with the three men who had been put 
to so much inconvenience on his account. This demo- 
cratic proposal was promptly authorised, to the no small 
satisfaction and profit of the three haggard officials. 
So Mr. Van Torp went away, and in a few minutes he 
was sound asleep in the corner of his big motor-car on 
his way back to Derbyshire. 

Lady Maud found Margaret and Logotheti walking 
slowly together under the trees about eleven o'clock on 
the following morning. Some of the people were already 
gone, and most of the others were to leave in the course 
of the day. Lady Maud had just said good-bye to a 
party of ten who were going off together, and she had 
not had a chance to speak to Margaret, who had come 
down late, after her manner. Most great singers are 
portentous sleepers. As for Logotheti, he always had 
coffee in his room wherever he was, he never appeared 
at breakfast, and he got rid of his important corre- 
spondence for the day before coming down. 

‘I've had a letter from Threlfall,' he said as Lady 


390 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XIX 


Maud came up. 'I was just telling Miss Donne about 
it. Feist died in Dr. Bream’s Home yesterday after- 
noon.’ 

' Rather unfortunate at this juncture, isn’t it?’ ob- 
served Margaret. 

But Lady Maud looked shocked and glanced at Logo- 
theti as if asking a question. 

'No/ said the Greek, answering her thought. 'I did 
not kill him, poor devil! He did it himself, out of fright, 
I think. So that side of the affair ends. He had some 
sealed glass capsules of hydrocyanide of potassium in 
little brass tubes, sewn up in the lining of a waistcoat, 
and he took one, and must have died instantly. I be- 
lieve the stuff turns into prussic acid, or something of 
that sort, when you swallow it — Griggs will know.’ 

'How dreadful!’ exclaimed Lady Maud. 'I’m sure 
you drove him to it!’ 

'I’ll bear the responsibility of having rid the world 
of him, if I did. But my share consisted in having 
given him opium and then stopped it suddenly, till he 
surrendered and told the truth — or a large part of it — 
what I have told you already. He would not own that 
he killed Miss Bamberger himself with the rusty little 
knife that had a few red silk threads sticking to the 
handle. He must have put it back into his case of in- 
struments as it was, and he never had the courage to 
look at it again. He had studied medicine, I believe. 
But he confessed everything else, how he had been 
madly in love with the poor girl when he was her father’s 
secretary, and how she treated him like a servant and 


CHAP. XIX 


THE PRIMADONNA 


391 


made her father turn him out, and how he hated Van 
Torp furiously for being engaged to marry her. He 
hated the Nickel Trust, too, because he had thought 
the shares were going down and had risked the little he 
had as margin on a drop, and had lost it all by the unex- 
pected rise. He drank harder after that, till he was 
getting silly from it, when the girl’s death gave him his 
chance against Van Torp, and he manufactured the evi- 
dence in the diary he kept, and went to Bamberger with 
it and made the poor man believe whatever he invented. 
He told me all that, with a lot of details, but I could not 
make him admit that he had killed the girl himself, so 
I gave him his opium and he went to sleep. That’s my 
story. Or rather, it’s his, as I got it from him last 
Thursday. I supposed there was plenty of time, but 
Mr. Bamberger seems to have been in a hurry after we 
had got Feist into the Home.’ 

'Had you told Mr. Van Torp all this?’ asked Lady 
Maud anxiously. 

'No,’ Logo the ti answered. 'I was keeping the infor- 
mation ready in case it should be needed.’ 

A familiar voice spoke behind them. 

'Well, it’s all right as it is. Much obliged, all the 
same.’ 

All three turned suddenly and saw that Mr. Van Torp 
had crept up while they were talking, and the expression 
of his tremendous mouth showed that he had meant to 
surprise them, and was pleased with his success in doing 
so. 

'Really!’ exclaimed Lady Maud. 


392 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XIX 


‘ Goodness gracious !’ cried the Primadonna. 

‘By the Dog of Egypt!’ laughed Logotheti. 

‘Don’t know the breed,’ answered Van Torp, not 
understanding, but cheerfully playful. ‘Was it a trick 
dog?’ 

‘I thought you were in London,’ Margaret said. 

‘I was. Between one and four this morning, I should j 
say. It’s all right.’ He nodded to Lady Maud as he J 
spoke the last words, but he did not seem inclined to 
say more. 

‘Is it a secret?’ she asked. 

‘I never have secrets,’ answered the millionaire. : 
‘Secrets are everything that must be found out and put : 
in the paper right away, ain’t they? But I had no 
trouble at all, only the bother of waiting till the office 
got an answer from the other side. I happened to 
remember where I’d spent the evening of the explosion, j 
that’s all, and they cabled sharp and found my statement i 
correct.’ 

‘Why did you never tell me?’ asked Lady Maud 
reproachfully. ‘You knew how anxious I was!’ 

‘Well,’ replied Mr. Van Torp, dwelling long on the 
syllable, ‘I did tell you it was all right anyhow, what- 
ever they did, and I thought maybe you’d accept the 
statement. The man I spent that evening with is a 
public man, and he mightn’t exactly think our inter- 
view was anybody else’s business, might he?’ 

‘And you say you never keep a secret!’ 

The delicious ripple was in Lady Maud’s sweet voice ‘ 
as she spoke. Perhaps it came a little in spite of herself, 


CHAP. XIX 


THE PRIMADONNA 


393 


and she would certainly have controlled her tone if she 
had thought of Leven just then. But she was a very 
natural creature, after all, and she could not and would 
not pretend to be sorry that he was dead, though the 
manner of his end had seemed horrible to her when she 
had been able to think over the news, after Van Torp 
had got safely away. So far there had only been three 
big things in her life : her love for a man who was dead, 
her tremendous determination to do some real good for 
his memory’s sake, and her deep gratitude to Van Torp, 
who had made that good possible, and who, strangely 
enough, seemed to her the only living person who really 
understood her and liked her for her own sake, without 
the least idea of making love. And she saw in him what 
few suspected, except little Ida and Miss More — the 
real humanity and faithful kindness that dwelt in the 
terribly hard and coarse-grained fighting financier. 
Lady Maud had her faults, no doubt, but she was too big, 
morally, to be disturbed by what seemed to Margaret 
Donne an intolerable vulgarity of manner and speech. 

As for Margaret, she now felt that painful little re- 
morse that hurts us when we realise that we have sus- 
pected an innocent person of something dreadful, even 
though we may have contributed to the ultimate triumph 
of the truth. Van Torp unconsciously deposited a coal 
of fire on her head. 

'I’d just like to say how much I appreciate your kind- 
ness in singing last night, Madame da Cordova/ he said. 
‘From what you knew and told me on the steamer, you 
might have had a reasonable doubt, and I couldn’t very 


394 


THE PRIMADONNA 


chap, fax 


well explain it away before. I wish you'd some day 
tell me what I can do for you. I'm grateful, honestly.' 

Margaret saw that he was much in earnest, and as 
she felt that she had done him great injustice, she held 
out her hand with a frank smile. 

Tm glad I was able to be of use,' she said. f Come 
and see me in town.' 

‘ Really? You won't throw me out if I do?' 

Margaret laughed. 

‘No, I won’t throw you out!' 

‘Then I'll come some day. Thank you.' 

Van Torp had long given up all hope that she would 
ever marry him, but it was something to be on good 
terms with her again, and for the sake of that alone he 
would have risked a good deal. 

The four paired off, and Lady Maud walked in front 
with Van Torp, while Margaret and Logo the ti followed 
more slowly; so the couples did not long keep near one 
another, and in less than five minutes they lost each 
other altogether among the trees. 

Margaret had noticed something very unusual in the 
Greek's appearance when they had met half an hour 
earlier, and she had been amazed when she realised that 
he wore no jewellery, no ruby, no emeralds, no diamonds, 
no elaborate chain, and that his tie was neither green, 
yellow, sky-blue, nor scarlet, but of a soft dove grey 
which she liked very much. The change was so sur- 
prising that she had been on the point of asking him 
whether anything dreadful had happened; but just then 
Lady Maud had come up with them. 


CHAP. XIX 


THE PRIMADONNA 


395 


They walked a little way now, and when the others 
were out of sight Margaret sat down on one of the many 
boulders that strewed the park. Her companion stood 
before her, and while he lit a cigarette she surveyed him 
deliberately from head to foot. Her fresh lips twitched 
as they did when she was near laughing, and she looked 
up and met his eyes. 

‘What in the world has happened to you since yester- 
day?’ she asked in a tone of lazy amusement. ‘You 
look almost like a human being!’ 

‘Do I?’ he asked, between two small puffs of smoke, 
and he laughed a little. 

‘Yes. Are you in mourning for your lost illusions?’ 

‘No. I’m trying “to create and foster agreeable 
illusions” in you. That’s the object of all art, you 
know.’ 

‘Oh! It’s for me, then? Really 1 ?’ 

‘Yes. Everything is. I thought I had explained 
that the other night!’ His tone was perfectly uncon- 
cerned, and he smiled carelessly as he spoke. 

‘I wonder what would happen if I took you at your 
word,’ said Margaret, more thoughtfully than she had 
spoken yet. 

‘I don’t know. You might not regret it. You might 
even be happy!’ 

There was a little silence, and Margaret looked down. 

‘I’m not exactly miserable as it is,’ she said at last. 
‘Are you?’ 

‘Oh no!’ answered Logotheti. ‘I should bore you 
if I were!’ 


396 


THE PRIMADONNA 


CHAP. XIX 


‘ Awfully!’ She laughed rather abruptly. ‘Should 
you want me to leave the stage?’ she asked after a 
moment. 

‘You forget that I like the Cordova just as much as 
I like Margaret Donne.’ 

‘Are you quite sure?’ 

‘Absolutely!’ 

‘Let’s try it!’ 


THE END 


Mr. F. MARION CRAWFORD’S 

LATEST NOVEL 

Arethusa 


One of the most spirited tales this born story-teller of wide 
knowledge and versatility has ever constructed. 

Its scenes are laid in Constantinople when the constant plot- 
ting of the fourteenth century made adventures an every-day 
possibility. 

Its hero is an exiled Venetian noble, inclining toward the Revo- 
lutionary side in Byzantine politics ; and toward a girl whom he 
has had a commission to purchase as a slave, in affairs of love. 

Its characters include among others a Persian slave-dealer, a 
Turkish astrologer, the two Emperors, Andronicus and his 
imprisoned son, Johannes, and Tocktamish, a Tartar merce- 
nary, — a cosmopolitan assembly in which the author of “Paul 
Patoflf,” “ The Witch of Prague,” and of “ Marietta ” is well at 
home. 

Dr. Frederick Taber Cooper, in The Bookman , says of this 
author : “ In theory Mr. Crawford is a romanticist ; in practice 
he is in turn realist, psychologue, mystic, whatever for the mo- 
ment suits his needs or appeals to his instinct of born story- 
teller.” He calls him, in fact, as others have done, “the prince 
of story-tellers.” 

Illustrated by Gertrude Demain Hammond. Cloth , $ 1.50 


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Saracinesca 

“ The work has two distinct merits, either of which would serve to make it 
great, — that of telling a perfect story in a perfect way, and of giving a 
graphic picture of Roman society in the last days of the Pope’s temporal 
power. . . . The story is exquisitely told.” — Boston Traveler. 

Sant' llano* A Sequel to ‘ ‘ Saracinesca ” 

“ A singularly powerful and beautiful story. ... It fulfils every requirement 
of artistic fiction. It brings out what is most impressive in human action, 
without owing any of its effectiveness to sensationalism or artifice. It is 
natural, fluent in evolution, accordant with experience, graphic in descrip- 
tion, penetrating in analysis, and absorbing in interest.” — New York 
Tribune. 

Don Orsino* A Sequel to “Sant’ Ilario ” 

“ Perhaps the cleverest novel of the year. . . . There is not a dull para- 
graph in the book, and the reader may be assured that once begun, the 
story of Don Orsino will fascinate him until its close.” — The Critic. 

Taquisara 

“ To Mr. Crawford’s Roman novels belongs the supreme quality of uniting 
subtly drawn characters to a plot of uncommon interest.” — Chicago Tribune. 

Corleone 

“ Mr. Crawford is the novelist born ... a natural story-teller, with wit, 
imagination, and insight added to a varied and profound knowledge of 
social life.” — The Inter- Ocean, Chicago. 

Casa BraCClO* In two volumes , $2.00. Illustrated by A. 
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Like Taquisara and Corleone , it is closely related in plot to the fortunes of 
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NOVELS OF ROMAN SOCIAL LIFE 

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A Roman Singer 

" One of the earliest and best works of this famous novelist. . . . None 
but a genuine artist could have made so true a picture of human life, crossed 
by human passions and interwoven with human weakness. It is a perfect 
specimen of literary art." — The Newark Advertiser. 

Marzio's Crucifix 

“ We have repeatedly had occasion to say that Mr. Crawford possesses in 
an extraordinary degree the art of constructing a story. It is as if it could 
not have been written otherwise, so naturally does the story unfold itself, 
and so logical and consistent is the sequence of incident after incident. As 
a story, Marzio's Crucifix is perfectly constructed." — New York Commer- 
cial Advertiser. 

Heart of Rome* A Tale of the Lost Water 

“ Mr. Crawford has written a story of absorbing interest, a story with a 
genuine thrill in it ; he has drawn his characters with a sure and brilliant 
touch, and he has said many things surpassingly well.” — New York Times 
Saturday Review. 

Cecilia* A Story of Modern Rome 

“ That F. Marion Crawford is a master of mystery needs no new telling. . . . 
His latest novel, Cecilia , is as weird as anything he has done since the 
memorable Mr. Isaacs. ... A strong, interesting, dramatic story, with 
the picturesque Roman setting beautifully handled as only a master’s touch 
could do it." — Philadelphia Evening Telegraph. 

Whosoever Shall Offend 

“ It is a story sustained from beginning to end by an ever increasing dra- 
matic quality. " — New York Evening Post. 

Pietro Ghisleri 

“ The imaginative richness, the marvellous ingenuity of plot, the power and 
subtlety of the portrayal of character, the charm of the romantic environ- 
ment, — the entire atmosphere, indeed, — rank this novel at once among 
the great creations.” — The Boston Budget. 

To Leeward 

“ The four characters with whose fortunes this novel deals are, perhaps, 
the most brilliantly executed portraits in the whole of Mr. Crawford’s long 
picture gallerv, while for subtle insight into the springs of human passion 
and for swift dramatic action none of the novels surpasses this one.” — The 
News and Courier. 

A Lady of Rome 


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A Talc of a Lonely Parish 

“ It is a pleasure to have anything so perfect of its kind as this brief and 
vivid story. ... It is doubly a success, being full of human sympathy, as 
well as thoroughly artistic in its nice balancing of the unusual with the 
commonplace, the clever juxtaposition of innocence and guilt, comedy 
and tragedy, simplicity and intrigue.” — Critic. 

Dr* Claudius. A True Story 

The scene changes from Heidelberg to New York, and much of the story 
develops during the ocean voyage. 

“There is a satisfying quality in Mr. Crawford’s strong, vital, forceful 
stories.” — Boston Herald. 

An American Politician. The scenes are laid in Boston 

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portraying sharply individual characters in well-defined surroundings.” — 
New York Commercial Advertiser. 

The Three Fates 

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human nature and his finest resources as a master of an original and 
picturesque style to bear upon this story. Taken for all in all, it is one of 
the most pleasing of all his productions in fiction, and it affords a view of 
certain phases of American, or perhaps we should say of New York, life 
that have not hitherto been treated with anything like the same adequacy 
and felicity." — Boston Beacon. 

Marion Darche 

* Full enough of incident to have furnished material for three or four 
stories. ... A most interesting and engrossing book. Every page unfolds 
new possibilities, and the incidents multiply rapidly.” — Detroit Free Press. 
"We are disposed to rank Marion Darche as the best of Mr. Crawford's 
American stories.” — The Literary World. 

Katharine Lauderdale 

The Ralstons. A Sequel to “ Katharine Lauderdale” 

“ Mr. Crawford at his best is a great novelist, and in Katharine Lauderdale 
we have him at his best.” — Boston Daily Advertiser. 

" A most admirable novel, excellent in style, flashing with humor, and full 
of the ripest and wisest reflections upon men and women.” — The West- 
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view has shown itself in the study of our social framework.” — Life. 


THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

FUBLISHERS, 64-66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK 


Mr. F. MARION CRAWFORD’S NOVELS 

In the binding oj the new Uniform Edition, each, $1.50 

Via Cruets. A Romance of the Second Crusade. Illustrated 
by Louis Loeb 

“ Via Cruets ... A tale of former days, possessing an air of reality and an 
absorbing interest such as few writers since Scott have been able to accom- 
plish when dealing with historical characters.” — Boston Transcript. 

In the Palace of the King (Spain) 

“ /« the Palace of the King is a masterpiece ; there is a picturesqueness, a 
sincerity whicn will catch all readers in an agreeable storm of emotion, and 
even leave a hardened reviewer impressed and delighted.” — Literature, 
London. 

With the Immortals 

“ The strange central idea of the story could have occurred only to a writer 
whose mind was very sensitive to the current of modern thought and prog- 
ress, while its execution, the setting it forth in proper literary clothing, 
could be successfully attempted only by one whose active literary ability 
should be fully equalled by his power of assimilative knowledge both lit- 
erary and scientific, and no less by his courage and capacity for hard work. 
The book will be found to have a fascination entirely new for the habitual 
reader of novels. Indeed, Mr. Crawford has succeeded in taking his read- 
ers quite above the ordinary plane of novel interest.” — Boston Advertiser. 

Children of the King (Calabria) 

“ One of the most artistic and exquisitely finished pieces of work that 
Crawford has produced. The picturesque setting, Calabria and its sur- 
roundings, the beautiful Sorrento and the Gulf of Salerno, with the bewitch- 
ing accessories that climate, sea, and sky afford, give Mr, Crawford rich 
opportunities to show his rare descriptive powers. As a whole the book is 
strong and beautiful through its simplicity, and ranks among the choicest 
of the author’s many fine productions.” — Public Opinion. 

A Cigarette Maker's Romance (Munich) 

and Khaled, a Tale of Arabia 

“Two gems of subtle analysis of human passion and motive.” — Times. 
“The interest is unflagging throughout. Never has Mr. Crawford done 
more brilliant realistic work than here. But his realism is only the case 
and cover for those intense feelings which, placed under no matter what 
humble conditions, produce the most dramatic and the most tragic situa- 
tions. . . . This is a secret of genius, to take the most coarse and common 
material, the meanest surroundings, the most sordid material prospects, 
and out of the vehement passions which sometimes dominate all human 
beings to build up with these poor elements, scenes and passages the 
dramatic and emotional power of which at once enforce attention and 
awaken the profoundest interest.” — New York Tribune. 

Fair Margaret. A Portrait 

“ An exhilarating romance . . . alluring in its naturalness and grace.” — 
Boston Herald. 


THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS, 64-66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK 


Mr. F. MARION CRAWFORD’S NOVELS 

Mr. Crawford has no equal as a writer of brilliant cosmopolitan fiction, in 
which the characters really belong to the chosen scene and the story inter- 
est is strong. His novels possess atmosphere in a high degree. 

Mr* Isaacs (India) 

Its scenes are laid in Simla, chiefly. This is the work which first placed 
its author among the most brilliant novelists of his day. 

Greifenstein (The Black Forest) 

“ . . . Another notable contribution to the literature of the day. It pos- 
sesses originality in its conception and is a work of unusual ability. Its 
interest is sustained to the close, and it is an advance even on the previous 
work of this talented author. Like all Mr. Crawford’s work, this novel is 
crisp, clear, and vigorous, and will be read with a great deal of interest.” — 
New York Evening Telegram . 

Zoroaster (Persia) 

“ It is a drama in the force of its situations and in the poetry and dignity of 
its language ; but its men and women are not men and women of a play. 
By the naturalness of their conversation and behavior they seem to live and 
lay hold of our human sympathy more than the same characters on a stage 
could possibly do.” — The New York Times. 

The Witch of Prague (Bohemia) 

“ A fantastic tale” illustrated by W. J. Hennessy. 

“ The artistic skill with which this extraordinary story is constructed and 
carried out is admirable and delightful. . . . Mr. Crawford has scored a 
decided triumph, for the interest of the tale is sustained throughout. . . . 
A very remarkable, powerful, and interesting story." — New York Tribune. 

Paul Patoff (Constantinople) 

“ Mr. Crawford has a marked talent for assimilating local color, not to 
make mention of a broader historical sense. Even though he may adopt, 
as it is the romancer’s right to do, the extreme romantic view of history, it is 
always a living and moving picture that he evolves for us, varied and stir- 
ring." — New York Evening Post. 

Marietta (Venice) 

"No living writer can surpass Mr. Crawford in the construction of a com- 
plicated plot and the skilful unravelling of the tangled skein.” — Chicago 
Record-Herald. 

“ He has gone back to the field of his earlier triumphs, and has, perhaps, 
scored the greatest triumph of them all." — New York Herald. 


THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS, 64-66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK 


F. MARION CRAWFORDS 

ILLUSTRATED DESCRIPTIVE BOOKS 


Salve Venetia! 

Gleanings from History. Richly illustrated with twenty- 
nine photogravure plates, and two hundred and twenty 
illustrations in the text from drawings by Mr. Joseph 
Pennell. 

In two volumes , cloth, 8vo, in a box, $ 5.00 net 

Ave Roma Immortalis 

In one volume, profusely illustrated. 

Cloth, 8vo , $ 2.50 net 

“ He is keenly appreciative of the wonderful picturesqueness, romance, 
impressiveness, and fascination of the historical events which he de- 
scribes.” — The Boston Herald. 

“ It is the most — oh, far and away the most — interesting book I 
ever read about Rome. It fascinated me.” — Dr. Weir Mitchell. 

Southern Italy and Sicily, and 
The Rulers of the South 

Being a new edition in one volume of “ The Rulers of 
the South.” 

Fully Illustrated, cloth, 8vo, $ 2.50 net 
“ Uncommonly tangible and vivid, so that . . . each heroic or sinister 
or pathetic figure stands out effectively in its proper place.” — New 
York Tribune. 


PUBLISHED BY 

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

64-66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YOKE 






























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